Smile
by MidnightOfTheSoul
Summary: "Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." An angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.*Epilogue posted*
1. Chapter 1

Title: Smile (1/?)

Rating: K for brief swearing

Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian

Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews and some rumblings

Summary: _"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." _: An angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song _Smile_, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.

A/N: I am far too impatient to have a beta, all mistakes are mine. I find Gillian to be a fascinating ball of repressed emotion and plan on spending approximately three to four chapters exploring what goes on upstairs when she's placed in various situations. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

.::.::.::.

_"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself."_

Gillian swiveled around in her office chair, chin perched on her hand as she stared into the D.C. night. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled loudly, not worried who would hear, for she was alone. It was becoming an increasing habit of late, but she couldn't find it within herself to mind.

Cal was out with Zoe and Emily. After a tumultuous month, he and his ex had recently rekindled their relationship. _Again._ Of course this was following several weeks of him sleeping with a former suspect in a murder case. Shaking her head to herself, Gillian didn't dare let her mind wander down that torturous path. Even when Emily would come into her office and make her _casual comments, _Gillian kept her mouth shut.

In doing so, she didn't have to acknowledge or think about anything she wasn't ready for. Cal's new 'relationships' were certainly not a place she'd like to dwell, nor was it her place to interfere. The relationships had nothing to do with work or finances, so Cal's sexual proclivities and tendency towards self-destruction were off-limits. She could see and hear all she wanted, just as he did for her, but out of mutual respect, they let it lie.

Besides, it would give him the right to do the same to her, and the last thing she wanted was encourage Cal Lightman and his jealous nature probing into her relationships. It had been happening far too often lately, and she was none too happy about it. She felt that if she took a step back from everything, then perhaps, he'd be able to do the same.

Still, Gillian couldn't hold back a bemused smirk at the thought of Cal's blonde _something on the side _meeting up with Zoe in the office by accident. It was about three weeks ago, but Gillian couldn't help but laugh at the ensuing mess.

.::. Three weeks prior, in which there was a bit of a situation.::.

Leaning against Cal's desk, Gillian was watching him pace back and forth as they discussed a case in which a twenty-three year old federal agent had been bludgeoned to death and left in a park two weeks before her wedding. They had a few suspects, but couldn't seem to get anywhere on the case and the pressure was increasing on all sides to find the culprit.

"Yeah, but that still doesn't explain motive," said Cal as he toyed with the cap of his marker. "We've been watchin' film of her engagement party all afternoon and we've only had a couple hits."

She loved times like this. When they could just sit in his office and have their own tennis match of ideas, lobbing them back and forth, running with the ones that fit, the ones that could take them to the next step. It was how they worked best, how they _were_ the best. It was times like this when he was all hers, and she enjoyed it immensely.

"And I've been listening to interview tapes non stop since yesterday. Who needs motive when you look like that, Cal?" The victim was tall, leggy, and very attractive. "She could be a saint and still anger others just by her appearance alone."

"Speakin' from experience are we?" Cal asked slyly and Gillian just shook her head in exasperation, ignoring his remark as a blush crept up her neck. Before she could reply, the moment was ruined as _the blonde_ appeared in the doorway when Cal was bestowing Gillian with a smarmy smirk.

Just like that, Gillian felt herself dissolving into the background of Cal Lightman's universe. She knew that Cal liked fire. He was a fan of the flash and the flare and the sparkle. Most notably, it was the heat. He had it with Zoe and he had it with the blonde.

The blonde had a name, but Gillian refused to use it unless absolutely necessary.

Cal looked from the blonde at his doorway, who was holding a bag of take-out, possibly lunch for them to share, and back to Gillian. Though fleeting, Gillian caught the desire that flashed over his face, quick as lightening, and she pushed off from his desk.

"I've got some calls to make. Have a nice lunch," Gillian ducked her head as she passed Cal and gave the other woman a warm smile as she glided through the door.

"Thanks, Foster," he called out with his eyes on the other woman, thoughts already in another place.

Pushing aside whatever emotion really wanted to surface, Gillian took a call in her office and was heading over to the lab to look over more footage with Loker when Heidi intercepted her with a series of messages. As they stood in the hall, she glanced up and spotted Ben coming towards her with an evil grin on his face, biting his lip at intervals.

Gillian gave him a quizzical look as he came and stood beside her, a little closer than what was professional, but not too close. It was warm outside and she could feel the heat radiating off him, telling her he'd just returned from some errand.

As Heidi was taking a breath, Gillian glanced over at him again. "What's up with you?"

Ben merely shook his head and smiled wickedly. "Just wait."

As the words left his mouth, she heard a door slam open, most likely Cal's, and watched from afar as the blonde went stomping out. Brow furrowed in confusion, Gillian glanced at Ben who kept watching in the direction of Cal's office. No less than ten seconds later, Zoe came storming out with Cal on her heels.

"Oh God," Gillian rubbed her forehead at the thought of what Zoe possibly walked in on and knew there were about to be fireworks. "Everybody inside."

As they began yelling loudly in the hallway, Gillian silently directed everyone to their offices, heading for cover. It was always best to allow the tornado to pass by, because she knew from personal experience that the collateral damage could be quite extreme.

Gillian and Ben sought refuge in the lab with Loker. Taking a seat, she resumed looking over footage, only to stop when she felt Ben studying her.

"What?"

"You're enjoying this," Ben stated knowingly.

"What Cal does in his free time is his own business," Gillian deflected.

"_Right_. Except it's not his free time if it's in the office. So it's not only his business, but it's the business of everyone who can hear," he paused as Gillian leaned forward to switch to another video on a side screen. "Don't try to hide the fact that you're glad Cal got caught and now he's paying for the consequences."

"He didn't get caught," Gillian defaulted into defense mode calmly. "There was no exclusivity on either part in any of his relationships. It's just unfortunate that they came together all at once. He can't help it if Zoe can be… "

Ben took up for her hesitation, "territorial? Bitchy? Jealous?"

"Hell hath no fury," quipped Loker absently as he scanned another window of faces from the engagement party.

At this point, Gillian had selectively zoned out the others as she continued watching the faces and listening to the fiancé's speech, searching for something, anything. What kept nagging her was motive. The victim had no defense wounds, indicating she knew her attacker, had no outright enemies, her bank account was solid, her work record was spotless, and her fiancé seemed to genuinely care for her.

Hmmm. Care? Yes. Love? Listening to his dull speech and the distance in his words, Gillian wasn't so sure.

"Bring up the tape of the fiancé again," Gillian asked. Loker selected the footage and they watched it repeatedly, seeing admiration, joy, slight doubt, sadness, and there, "stop! Regret. See that? What is he regretful about? And see that? He turned his eyes away. Who's he looking at?"

"You think the fiancé did it? We've already interviewed him three times, and not once has he popped positive," said Ben assuredly. "Maybe a best friend? Tends to be pretty common. Fiancé has doubts, confides in the best friend of their intended and one thing leads to another…"

"No, it doesn't fit," said Loker. "None of the friends seemed to show anything that would indicate mal-intent."

Gillian kept quiet. She didn't want to rule out the friends. If jealousy was a motivator, rules and conduct tended to fly out the window. Hearing another screech from outside, she sighed. A powerful motivator.

A few minutes later, in the last place she expected, she spotted the answer and couldn't help but gasp.

"There, the mother. She's the one. Watch the mother's face as the fiancé begins describing about all the things he loves about our victim. She shows contempt, anger, and that — jealousy. We need to figure out what was going on between them. I want audio analysis of voice pitch and tone as well, please."

"Already on it," Ben replied as he began speaking into his cell phone.

She slid over to a seat next to Loker and pulled up more footage of interviews with the fiancé and mother. Gillian could tell Loker wanted to say something but for some odd reason was holding back.

"Yes?"

"Lightman interviewed the mother," said Loker quietly.

"So?"

"He cleared her."

Gillian hated it when this happened. When she missed something and Cal caught it, it was no big deal, because Cal was _Cal_. But if she found something that he missed, people had to second-guess _everything_.

She didn't bother hiding her irritation as she replied, "Your point?"

He shrugged innocently and continued to look at the screen, "Nice catch, that's all."

Gillian felt her cheeks grow warm but refused to show how much his compliment affected her. It was _Loker_ after all. Ben ended his call and took a seat next to Gillian, his leg brushing against hers briefly as he swiveled underneath the table.

"They've both agreed to come in for questioning, but I told them we think this has to do with one of the friends, not about them."

"Sneaky," Loker replied with a grin.

"Aw, you're learning," Gillian gave Ben a smile and placed her hand on his forearm, but quickly retracted. The last thing she needed was Ben getting the wrong idea; or any kind of idea, for that matter. In true body language deflection, she stood up and placed her hand on Loker's shoulder, just like she'd done in the past.

"Get all the images catalogued. I'm going to rescue Cal so we can all get home at a decent time tonight," Gillian stated as she headed towards the door.

"Good luck," she heard from the pair in unison as the door shut behind her. Taking a deep breath, she heard her mother's words echoing in her mind: _chin up, shoulders back, walk with purpose. Do that and even if you don't have the confidence, you have all the appearance of it._

_Fake it until you believe it._

Gillian glided over to the office where Cal and Zoe seemed to be engaging in round three. It wasn't the first time she'd broken up an argument between them and unfortunately, she figured it wouldn't be the last.

"Cal?' her soft, clear voice cut between their harsh ones and brought them to a halt. She was always amazed when that happened, because it didn't just work on Cal, but Zoe as well. _Odd_.

She caught a dagger from Zoe and utter discombobulation from Cal, typical after going head-to-head with Zoe.

"I wanted to let you know that we're bringing in the mother and the fiancé… I think the mother did it," she stated. His eyebrows drew together as his mouth gaped open in consideration, mentally reviewing what he knew.

Shaking his head, she knew that this would be an uphill battle. "I interviewed her. Didn't see anything but regret and sorrow."

"I know what you saw, but what did it mean?" she asked pointedly as she placed her hands on her hips, the question having been asked dozens of times before.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't have somethin'. Show me," he demanded as he pushed past Zoe to his desk, tossing Gillian the remote as she came to the center of the room and ignored Zoe's glare. As Gillian quickly reviewed the footage she felt him vacillating between belief and doubt, but she waited until the end to give him the money shot and paused it. She heard him chuff at her side and approach the board, circling the brief but apparent signs.

"That's beautiful, it is," Cal said as he stood back, staring at the mother's face frozen on his wall.

"What? I don't see it," asked Zoe. It _was_ her case, after all.

"Jealousy," replied Cal.

"What? So the mom was jealous her daughter was going somewhere with her life? She was gorgeous, intelligent, and had a helluva fiancé. It's almost understandable."

"That's not just any type of jealousy," Gillian began as she approached the board. Motioning to furrowed eyebrows, the lowered eyelids and chin jutted forward, she looked back at Zoe. "That's the jealousy of a scorned lover."

Gillian felt the air leave the room momentarily as she quickly scanned Zoe's face when realization dawned. Averting her eyes, Gillian completely ignored Cal's and looked elsewhere. Realizing her job here was done, she headed toward the door.

"Want me to call you for interviews when the mom and fiancé get here?"

"No, no," Cal replied as he stared at the board, arms crossed. "It's all you, Foster. I just want to watch."

She could tell by his careful tone that he was trying not to give anything away, but she knew he was dismayed at them cracking the case while he was in his office up to his neck in lady problems.

Forty-five minutes later and she'd hatched out a plan with Ben, Loker and Torres. As of yet, the fiancé had not met Ben and Torres, so Gillian put them with the fiancé, while she would hone all her energy on the mother. She set up the camera in her office and retired behind her desk, clearly displaying a picture of her with Emily, waiting for the mother to arrive. The plan was simple for the most part. She wasn't a fan of the elaborate schemes like Cal, too much opportunity for something to go wrong.

Dressed prim and proper, the mother entered and Gillian directed her to take a seat in the chairs near her desk. The mother needed to feel like this was a casual conversation, not an interrogation. Gillian needed to know what it would take to make her break.

Before they could begin, Gillian's phone rang and she took the call, purposefully allowing the mother to look around Gillian's office. Of course, she spotted the prominently displayed picture, then cast her gaze around at the other objects. Ending her call, Gillian returned to the mother.

"I apologize, it's been a hectic day," said Gillian as she took a seat near the mother.

"Is that your daughter? She's beautiful," said the mother, gesturing to the picture.

Gillian let the implication lie for her as she smiled at the mother and carefully replied, "that's an old photo, Emily's almost out of college now, actually."

"I was in your shoes this time last year," said the mother, frowning. "Graduation is an exciting time, of course my daughter had to move back in with me, the economy the way it is."

"Oh, I don't think she'll be moving in with me," Gillian said enigmatically. "We're actually in a bit of a rough patch. But… that's neither here nor there."

She caught the curiosity that grazed the woman's features and held for a moment longer, to get a false sense of security flowing.

"We've been looking into some of your daughter's friends, her best friend in particular," Gillian began as she held open a blue file of information compiled on the victim's best friend. "We have reason to believe your daughter's fiancé may have been in a relationship with the best friend."

Gillian saw shock, then pure anger flash across the woman's face.

"I don't know what you're talking about, James has been nothing, if not loyal to my daughter. Never in a million years would he cheat on her," the mother promised. Gillian gave her a solemn smile and lay down another image, it was the day of the funeral and was a shot of the fiancé and the best friend hugging. Personally, Gillian didn't see much in it, but jealous people tended to project their fears onto harmless situations.

Plain as day, the woman was angry, an expected emotion at the thought of her daughter's fiancé cheating, but there was a hint of something more. Just then, Loker came and tapped on the window, looking worried.

"Excuse me one moment," Gillian stated as she set the file down, leaving the mother with the photo and a good shot of the door. Gillian stepped outside, leaving the door open just a crack.

"I told you not to come here, you know it's inappropriate," she admonished Loker. Gillian prayed that this wasn't too over-the-top.

"I had to talk to you, I… Emily came by earlier today and we talked. We're… getting back together," he said furtively.

"Are you kidding me?" Gillian exclaimed, letting her disbelief show. "We just had," she lowered her voice, appearing to be discreet, but loud enough for the mother to hear, "we just had sex this morning. You can't tell me you're in love with me one minute, then want to get together with Emily the next. You can't have it both ways, Eli."

She let the door shut completely, said a few more things and then pushed him away, emphatically telling him to never come back. Gillian took a second to herself, shielding herself from the mother's view as she fought a grin. Two more minutes and she'd be able to slam-dunk this case. Staring into the light for a moment, Gillian summoned some tears from an unknown fount and poked her head back inside her office.

"I'll uh, I'll be with you in just a moment," Gillian said as she felt a tear run down her cheek. She saw compassion in the mother's eyes as she simply waved off Gillian.

"Take your time, I'm in no hurry," she gave Gillian a commiserating smile.

Gillian pushed away and then walked over to the lab, swiping the tears from her eyes as she entered to the sound of clapping.

"That was brilliant. Seriously, could that have been more perfect?" Loker stated as Ben walked over and clasped her on the shoulder. "I mean, look at her face, she clearly sympathizes with what you're going through. She didn't show any disgust when we were talking, but clearly showed contempt for me when I started making excuses."

Gillian's smile was electric as she backed towards the door, stopping when Torres stepped up just behind her. "The fiancé was definitely doing someone on the side, but it's a toss-up between the mom and the best friend. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if he was doing both."

"I don't care who he was having sex with, I just want to know if he helped kill our victim," Gillian replied as she placed a hand on the door just as it opened to reveal a much calmer looking Zoe.

"As do I," Zoe said as she walked over to a chair and took a seat. "It'd be lovely if you could make this an airtight case. I don't want someone getting to walk in court because of a technicality."

Gillian looked from Torres to Zoe and back again, shrugging in agreement. "Tell the fiancé that the mom already confessed, see what he does."

"Oh, and Gillian?" Zoe called out from her seat just as Cal was opening the door. "Ask me next time you intend to use my daughter for one of your schemes."

Zoe's sharp wording struck their intended target. Gillian didn't even spare her or Cal a second glance as she pushed past him to her office, letting her fresh anger simmer for a minute, because as it was, Loker _did_ just break up with her.

"How are you feeling?" asked the mother as Gillian took a seat next to her, and couldn't help feeling unsettled by the woman's willingness to comfort her. Gillian was about to point all this out when she decided to take a different tact.

Whereas Cal always got straight to the point, Gillian liked to take her time, ease into the situation, create the comfort, then pullout the rug from beneath them. Gillian may be a _horrible liar_, but she had compassion in spades and knew how to use it to her advantage. It was the psychological equivalent to hunting, and she was a fierce predator.

"It's so difficult, you know?" Gillian started, frustration in her voice. "I spend all my time working, trying to provide for Emily, and I've put her needs before mine for so long. Literally, anything she wants, she gets. The one time I take something for myself, and I get burned."

"I know how it feels," said the mother as she patted Gillian on the knee. "I bet you love him too, don't you?"

Gillian looked up with shock on her face, hesitating before her reply, then stammered, "No, no of course not. He's… ten years younger than me, no. Definitely not."

Even as she denied it, Gillian watched the mother nod in a knowing way. "I saw the way you looked at him, there's no denying it. Maybe you can talk him out it getting back together with her. Convince him in some way. She doesn't deserve to get everything she wants. Put yourself first for a change and go for it."

Gillian took a moment to weigh the mother's words, as if she was actually considering the notion. _Who in their right mind would pose that idea and think it good?_

"Is that what you did?" asked Gillian quietly, patiently.

"I… what?," the mother nodded then hesitated, stopping herself. "No, of course not."

"You keep saying no, but your body says yes," stated Gillian. "It's pretty easy to understand why you did it, your daughter had it all: the looks, the brains, the man. From all accounts, you were very close with your daughter, I bet that left you with her fiancé pretty frequently, even alone. What happened? Did they have a fight one night and… one thing led to another?"

The mother shook her head and stood quickly, preparing to leave. "I don't have to listen to this. I… had nothing to do with my daughter's murder."

"I wish I could believe you, I do, but I can't until you stop lying to me," Gillian replied softly. Just as the mother put her hand on the door, she saw the fiancé exiting an office in handcuffs. Assuming the worst, the mother turned towards Gillian and deflated right in front of her. The rapid change in her demeanor was almost comical.

Pressing her back against the glass, the mother covered her face, tears escaping as she mumbled, "he had nothing to do with it. It was me, only me," over and again.

After getting the full confession plus the gory details, Gillian passed Zoe as she left the lab, chattering to a judge on her cell phone. Though it was petty, Gillian couldn't help herself as she called out, "You're welcome!" to Zoe's retreating form. Even as the words escaped, she felt a pang of guilt. Zoe'd had a crappy day and all things considered, she had been rather civil lately. Damn Gillian's conscience and its earnestness.

Upon entering the lab, Cal said, "No one can leave 'em in tears quite like you Foster. I still don't understand why my daughter, of all people, had to be involved with that one over there," Cal gestured to Loker and shook his head.

Gillian rolled her eyes, replying, "we didn't have time to photo-shop a picture of a fake daughter and that one was in my office. Most the interns are busy and Loker fit the age-range. Give me a break, it worked." She strode up next to Loker and watched the end of the footage.

"So, how _exactly _were you looking at me?" asked Loker with a smirk. "Love right? I'm quite flattered."

"How's she looking at you now?" asked Torres as she walked up beside Gillian, bumping her in the shoulder good-naturedly.

"Don't know, I'm too afraid to look," Loker replied as he continued typing, ignoring Gillian's annoyed gaze. Turning, Gillian grabbed some files and headed towards the door. She was in good spirits and had no intention of letting anything get in the way of that.

"Foster?" she turned when she heard the tell-tale sound of a slushy being sloshed around.

When Gillian turned to claim her prize, her smile reached all the way ceiling.

"Orange?"

Taking the proffered drink at his nod, she placed the straw in her mouth and slurped deeply, watching Cal as she did so. There was a fleeting glance of _something_, so quick she almost missed it. But the fact was she didn't, and that was something she couldn't undo.

She tipped her head at him and took another sip. "Thank you kind sir, awfully nice of you."

"Eh, don't let it get to your head," he mumbled as she passed him by, heading to her office to take down the camera and write up a report.

An hour later and she was still behind her desk, having moved on to the quarterly finance summary. Loker and Torres stopped by on their way out, wishing her a good weekend. Zoe had given her a curt thanks as she took her leave. Gillian hadn't seen Ben, but didn't think he'd drop by anyway; he only did that when Cal wasn't around. She tried not to think too much about that.

The door swung open silently and she heard the shuffling of the pillow as it was placed on the ground while Cal took a seat. Taking her time, Gillian finished what she was doing then saved the excel spreadsheet, blinking hard against the numbers blurring before her.

"Tired?"

"It's been a long week," Gillian exhaled as she propped her chin on her hands. It had indeed. If all went well, this would be the first night in a while that she'd be leaving before ten.

Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and looked over, giving him a weak smile. Gillian opened her bottom drawer and grabbed a half-empty bottle of scotch and two tumblers, set them on her desk and poured two fingerfuls each. Brushing past him, she handed Cal a glass and took a seat, toeing off her shoes as she folded her feet beneath her.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Cal with his head back as he stared at the ceiling, no doubt pondering how to get through the romantic quagmire that would be his weekend. She absently wondered if he was still seeing the blonde this weekend, and smiled at the thought of how Zoe would react to that. Sometimes it was more fun to watch from the sidelines.

Catching the look on her face, Cal grew immediately suspicious. "Out with it, Foster. What you thinkin' 'bout over there?"

She grinned at him mischievously and took a sip of her drink, giving her best _wouldn't you like to know_ look. That one always got him, and she loved how riled up he could get because he was so fun to tease.

Instead of responding, she deflected and cocked her head to the side, watching him closely, "How's Zoe?"

It was a question she'd asked dozens of times. She could ask it because somewhere between Cal and Zoe's heated arguments at work and the Same Shirt for a Month and the repeated blurring of the lines, she'd had to pick him up from rock bottom. That made it her business. All he ever had to do was say the word and she'd back off.

"Confused… I think."

Gillian weighed his words and tried to imagine herself in Zoe's position, awkward as it was.

"Well, she probably had no idea you were… seeing someone, it's not like Emily was going to tell her. I can imagine it was quite a shock to walk into your office and see… whatever it is she saw," Gillian fumbled at the end and tried hard not to blush.

"It's not like I had her bent over my desk or somethin'. We were actually eating food in there."

Not buying what he was saying, Gillian rolled her eyes at him and shook her head, "If that's what they're calling it these days."

"You've got quite the dirty mind, you know that? And besides, Zoe didn't react to anything until I asked her to wait for us to finish eating lunch."

Gillian's jaw dropped and the fleeting mischief on his face, "You deliberately provoked her? What is _wrong_ with you? Is this some type of bizarre foreplay?"

At his silence she figured she'd hit the nail on the head and didn't exactly want to probe further. Clearing her throat, she shifted slightly in her chair and stared at the jar of dwindling pixie sticks on her desk. A restock was in order. Perhaps twizzlers? Eyes travelling, she glanced at her empty slushy container and she was reminded of one more thing.

Leaning forward on the arm of the chair, she reached out and grazed his fingers with her own, then perched her chin on her closed fist, waiting for him to look at her. Scrunching up her nose a bit as she grinned knowingly, "When did you figure it out? That the mother had done it?"

Cal sighed loudly and turned his head downwards, swirling the liquid around in his glass. She saw him frown quickly and wondered why he would be angry that she knew he'd broken the case before she had. It's not like it hurt her ego any. It was just nice to prove herself every once in a while, to see how she measured up. Not that she'd ever admit that.

"Not long before you actually. I'd say it happened some time while we were in my office hashin' it all out. I was just having fun keeping your undivided attention."

She watched him closely, he was still guarded, but she could tell it was the truth. Unsure of how to proceed, she continued quietly, cautiously.

"Don't you _always_ have my undivided attention?"

"Hardly, Foster. If it's not a case that you've taken with Loker or Torres, you're doin' finances, coordinatin' meetings, fending off Reynolds or whatever other suitors you've got. So no, I'm pretty sure I rarely have your undivided attention."

She met his response with arched eyebrows and a held breath. When he looked up to her, she could see the blunt truth in his eyes: a little jealousy mixed with a heap of sadness. Cal Lightman missed his best friend. Warmth shot through her veins at the thought and she couldn't hide the slow smile creeping across her face. Knowing she could take this one of two ways, she leaned towards the comfortable route for both of them and made light of the situation.

"Missed me, huh?" she said with practiced nonchalance. She stood and grabbed his empty glass and took her own, setting them on her desk. "C'mon, I'm going to let you take me out to dinner. Apparently they just came out with molten lava chocolate cake at the diner."

Gillian walked over and held out her hand, tugging Cal up until he stood before her. Her eyes traced the buttons on his shirt as she set her hands upon his shoulders. Biting her lip, Gillian glanced up and smiled softly, carefully, so he could read the trust in it. She pulled away, slid on her shoes, then picked up her purse from beside her desk. When she turned towards the door, he was leaning against the frame, watching her patiently with an indefinable look on his face.

"Molten lava cake, eh? Foster, that stuff is going to kill you someday," he replied as he held the door open for her, fingers dusting along the small of her back.

"Oh Cal, what doesn't kill me, only makes me happier," she grinned and gave him a pointed look.

Cocking his head to the side in reflection, _he hadn't gotten her killed yet —_ he nodded and bumped her in the shoulder as they continued down the hallway, thick as thieves.

"Good point, luv. Good point."

.::. Three weeks later, in which she'd spent less than a full day with him combined.::.

Breaking from the memory, Gillian frowned to herself as she glanced at her clock. It was nearly midnight and she had little work to show for her toil. After that night, which she recalled fondly as Miraculous Molten Lava Night, she'd started seeing less and less of him.

Cal had gotten himself into a life-or-death situation, _again_. This time, however, it was Zoe who saved the day, not Gillian. She was grateful that Zoe had been able to rescue him, but for some odd reason, the dynamics of all Cal's relationships shifted afterward. Throwing himself into work, Cal prioritized all his cases with Torres to develop her skills, always left the minute Emily called to say she was home, and oddly enough, started grabbing lunch with Zoe. Civil lunches.

It boggled the mind.

This was in addition to the _rekindling_ between them. On top of everything else, Gillian realized that somewhere along the way, she'd developed a slight sense of disassociation when it came to Cal. The situations he repeatedly placed himself in were taking their toll, adding another brick to the wall she was subconsciously constructing around her heart. It was… a measure of self-protection that evolved because her best friend seemed to be on a kick where risking life and limb gave him some form of insatiable rush.

One with which Gillian couldn't compete. Just like she'd never been able to compete with the women he was attracted to, or his vices, or his demons. It wasn't entirely unusual behavior for him. Cal went through this cycle every so often, and eventually he'd come back around. Eventually.

However this time, everything was different. All the events of the last year had happened. Arguments had been had, lives threatened, secrets kept, and confidences made. Most notable were the players involved. This time around, not only was Cal changing, but so was Gillian — though in a more insidious manner. Taking into account all these factors, one point was emphasized in her mind: Cal was pulling away from her.

The problem was, she was letting him.

Gathering her belongings, Gillian could hear her mother's words as she cast a glance and a sad smile in the direction of Cal's darkened office.

"_Even if your heart is aching, smile. No one needs to know when you feel vulnerable, weak, or sad. You control the situation Gillian; only show them what you want them to see. And sometimes, if you smile enough, you almost forget the reason you were unhappy to begin with. Fake it until you believe it."_

Sighing, she shut off the light to her office and stalked down the hallway into the night.

Alone.

.::.::.::.

A/N: Hopefully the format wasn't too confusing. I know this was a bittersweet kind of chapter, but I feel like that's the story of Gillian's life. Please note, I'm drawing more off of S1 Gillian as opposed to the mere shadow of her former self in S2. Also, I am not about to make Zoe some scapegoat for anything, because that's just plain lazy and she does have redeeming qualities. Please excuse the plot hole for why Zoe had taken this case to begin with, it was more fun to have her around to watch Gillian's awesomeness.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Smile (2/4)

Rating: K for theme

Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian

Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews and some rumblings

Summary: _"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." _ An angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song _Smile_, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. This one is a little dark. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

.::.::.::. In which Gillian has a no good, horrible, very bad day; but an okay night.::.::.::.

Silence.

It wasn't the dull roar of blood pounding behind Gillian's ears, just… silence. She watched as the man before her dropped to the ground, the bullet from the sniper rifle having transected his aorta, leaving him dead before he knew what hit him. Without hesitation, she fell to her knees beside him, placing her fisted hands to his chest as she tried to stop him from bleeding out.

Her efforts were futile, for there would be no more air to fill his lungs, no more beating of his heart, no more soul in his body. Glancing at his face, he still had the remnants of a smirk from the bad joke he'd just cracked.

As crimson seeped from the wound, staining her clenched fists, she was lifted from behind and pulled from the scene. The tape binding her wrists together was quickly sliced off and a towel handed over. A deluge of faces and uniforms crossed her path until she was deposited at the back of an ambulance. Another uniform, barely a man with a shadow of stubble on his face, started talking; but for the life of her, she couldn't understand a word he was saying.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's okay ma'am, you're in shock. I'm just here to get your statement, then we can have an officer take you home," the officer replied kindly as he pulled out a notepad and looked at her carefully. Gillian still couldn't fully comprehend what just happened. The officer decided to take five and search for a bottle of water so she could have a moment to collect her thoughts.

When the officer returned, all Gillian could do was muster a skeleton of events. "I… don't work here, I'm a consultant for the Lightman Group, trained in deception detection. This company had employed me to… to figure out who was guilty of embezzlement."

"And it works? Just like that? You come in, take a look around and know who the culprit is?" She ignored his comment and continued on with her statement.

"Jonathan Summerton was… an acquaintance from my last job… He recognized me immediately and we started catching up, then he must've figured out what I was here for when his boss took me into a conference room —"

"Did you say anything that would provoke him?"

"No, not at all," Gillian replied. "I'd been speaking with his boss for about ten minutes when Jonathan entered the conference room with a gun. He told us to stay put, then he disappeared."

"Did Mr. Summerton harm you in any way?"

"No, except for waving the gun around and pointing it at various people, he didn't hurt anyone," Gillian replied. "He let most the office go, except for the seven in the conference room and the members in the executive offices. We had to dump all our cell phones in a trash can then he used some duct tape to tie us up."

"Then why you?" the officer asked curiously.

"Excuse me?"

"All those co-workers, and he chose you — an 'acquaintance' to keep his gun trained on as his primary focus," he cocked his head to the side, asking earnestly,"Do you have any idea why?"

She heard his words but the suspicion in his tone was overwhelming. Gillian shook her head, not trusting herself to answer steadily.

"Was Mr. Summerton the one guilty of embezzlement?"

"I cannot disclose that information," Gillian replied, watching him tense up briefly.

"I understand," he replied with a slight frown. "If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to give me a call. Thank you for your time."

The officer left his card then took his leave. Gillian sat numbly for a few more minutes, unsure of what to do. Another officer offered her a ride, but she politely declined. Instead, she walked to the nearest metro stop and took the orange line, following it to Vienna at one end then to New Carrolton at the other.

Gillian rode the metro all through rush hour, watching as D.C.'s inhabitants crammed themselves into the small space. It was summer and the metro car smelled ripe with sweat, exhaustion, and body odor. She alternated between staring out the window and watching the passengers. _Really_ watching them. Looking for signs of their faults, their secrets, listening to the things they really said when they spoke.

Mothers who'd rather take respite in a hotel for the night than face their families, friends who lied about evening plans, kids who didn't do well on their report cards. Fear and shame tended to be a common theme among a majority of interactions. What was it about humans that made lying the best alternative to simply facing the facts and being upfront with others?

She concluded that a person's most common vice was not lying to others, but in lying to themselves. Gillian was a prime example of such a hypothesis, but she didn't dwell on her own shortcomings, at least not at the moment.

Feeling her phone vibrate for the umpteenth time, Gillian turned it off and shoved it in her purse. She didn't even know when or how it had been returned to her. In the recesses of her mind, Gillian knew there were people calling to ensure her safety, _he was calling,_ but she couldn't quite summon the ability to care.

She was waiting for the numbness to wear off, for the inevitable guilt and shame to overwhelm her. Unfortunately, shock seemed to be the name of the game at the moment. So, she transferred to a different train and got off near the National Mall. A walk was in order.

Unfortunately, three-inch heels did not make for excellent walking shoes. After two blocks, Gillian found herself a bench and decided to watch the world pass her by. Not long after, a group of men in their twenties and thirties came together on the green and played a fairly comical soccer match. She'd never taken the time to get fully interested in soccer, but she could appreciate the athleticism involved, especially when it involved several attractive men running around without their shirts. Gillian remained on that bench for over an hour, watching crowds of tourists flock by, joggers getting their evening workout, and lovers taking a stroll hand-in-hand.

Dusk. Gillian loved this time of day. The lightening bugs came out and everything took on an old-movie type of glow. For some odd reason, things seemed more… magical somehow. The breeze picked up and tossed her hair around, soft waves going this way and that. Fixing her gaze on an elegantly dressed older woman passing by, she could almost hear her mother's words carrying in the wind:

"_Being sad or unhappy isn't a condition to dwell in, Gillian. You can change it just as easily as you change your shoes. In this family we do not let our emotions get the better of us, so you must do what you can to put your best foot forward, regardless of what's weighing upon you. Remember: you're a strong, independent, capable young woman. Everything you do must exemplify that."_

With a little work, a slow, meager smile crept across her face, pulling the corners of her lips upwards. It was hard, too hard. Exhaling, she let the smile fall and crumble at her feet. As if on cue, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Someone was watching her. Not just watching. Staring. Scrutinizing. _Detecting_. That _someone_ ambled over with his peculiar gait and took a seat next to her. He set a styrofoam box between them and watched as the men wrapped up their game.

"You're a hard woman to find," Cal stated evenly as he broke the 'd probably been somewhere in the melee when she'd been extracted earlier, but that was neither here nor there

"Mmm, yep." She didn't want to know how he'd found her. .

"He held you hostage for almost 8 hours, and didn't once engage in negotiations or police contact. You sure know how to pick 'em."

Gillian wasn't going to remind Cal that he'd practically begged her to take this case. He claimed that he needed a break from dealing with 'white-collar crime' for at least a day. Like always, she took the case, because she was never good at saying 'no'. That must've been was why he was here. He felt guilty. Figured.

"You turned off your phone."

She didn't reply. In a way, she was hoping he'd have taken the hint and backed off. Clearly subtlety didn't always work when it came to Cal. Glancing down at the box, she allowed her curiosity to take over.

"What's in the box?"

A flicker of a grin crossed his face and she knew she was being comfortably predictable.

"Something that'll kill ya," he said as he pulled open the lid. "Molten lava chocolate cake."

The sight made her stomach start to churn ominously. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten, but food was not high on her priority list at the moment.

Swallowing hard, she turned her gaze outwards, away from his blatant attempt to cheer her up. Gillian could feel Cal tense up and knew he was completely miffed. Rightfully so, for Gillian Foster never turned down comfort food.

Cal finally realized what he was dealing with and settled in to wait her out. Like he always did. Forty minutes later, and he was still waiting.

"The gun wasn't even loaded," she murmured finally. "All he wanted was for someone to listen to him."

"Summerton used to be a patient of yours, right?"

She nodded, pursing her lips together tightly. "One of my last… before I left…"

"To work with me," Cal finished her sentence. "D'you miss it? Helping them?"

She considered glossing over the question, not answering, but it was her nature: helping others. He knew that as well as she did. She took a deep breath, the hot, muggy air saturating her lungs.

"He'd been suicidal when I first met him. He worked for the FBI and watched his partner get tortured and shot right in front of him. He ended up quitting the Bureau and got stuck working mid-level management at that private accounting firm. The only thing that got him through was his best friend, Laura." She paused for a second, crossing her arms.

"It was odd, getting to catch up on the last few years of his life. Jonathan was doing great until a few weeks ago, then the depression set in again. The gun was part of his… well, he was having suicidal ideations again, and that was part of his plan. Seeing me this morning triggered all of his bad memories and made his depression even worse."

"What made his depression come back to begin with?"

"Well, he and Laura ended up getting together a couple years ago."

"Ah," Cal replied knowingly. "Did it last?"

She let out a humorless laugh. "Does anything last these days?"

Cal frowned at her uncharacteristic cynicism "They stayed friends though. He said that having her in his life was better than nothing at all. Though, this time around, having her around wasn't enough to stave off the depression."

They sat in contemplative silence, pondering the lives of men and women.

"Wonder what she's doin' right now."

Gillian could guess easily, because after every single time she watched Cal put himself in some ridiculously dangerous situation, she'd come that much closer to imagining her life without him.

It still terrified her.

"She's probably in his apartment, curled up on his bed, hugging one of his pillows."

Not caring how morbid that sounded, Gillian felt a rogue tear start to streak down her face, only to have Cal's finger stop it from falling. She had yet to face him fully. She couldn't let him see that much raw emotion on her face. — it was hardly fair to either of them.

He settled his hand on her shoulder in a familiar fashion, the warmth of his hand seeping through her sleeveless blouse. He was trying to draw her back into the present, using physical touch to ground her. Then she felt his fingers skitter across the tip of her shoulder and she frowned.

"Are you playing connect the dots with my freckles again? You know I hate it when you do that," she admonished as she turned to flick his hand away. Only he caught her fingers, caught her. Placing his hand on her jaw, he slowly turned her to face him, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Why are you so ashamed? Short of stepping in front of the bullet, you couldn't have prevented this."

"I had him, Cal! He was going to put the gun down. He never had any intention of hurting anyone. I could've saved him!"

"I'm going to be honest with ya, Foster. Without knowing whether or not that gun was loaded, I'd have taken the shot. Not because he had a group of ya hostage, but because he kept pointing that bloody gun at _you_."

Startled, her eyes finally locked on his, and she realized not for the first time, that he cared far too much. It was dangerous, those feelings.

"Cal —"

"Summerton didn't embezzle the money, did he?"

She remained silent and he sighed loudly, "'Course he didn't."

Gillian frowned and turned away.

"Come home with me," he asked quietly, as he let her go. "Emily made dinner, and she said I wasn't allowed to return unless I had you with me."

It sounded nice, going home to them. But in the end, she was still a single woman who didn't have a family to call her own. It was easier, healthier, not to fool herself into pretending otherwise.

Instead of responding, she focused on the tightly packed group of Asian tourists passing by, Nikon cameras strung around their necks, gesturing to the National monument. The breeze was picking up again, catching the scent of his aftershave and she inhaled deeply.

"I'm starting to understand why you do it," she whispered again as she looked down, her hair covering her face. "…Why you put yourself in those situations. Yeah, it's thrilling, but there's something more, to it right? You love toeing the edge of that great abyss, but you love coming back even more. "

Cal resituated on the bench, straightening out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. She knew that position; it was his equivalent of stonewalling.

"Don't kid yourself, it's all about the thrill," he said off-handedly. The way his voice lilted up at the end told her otherwise. She fought a knowing grin as she tucked her hair behind her ear. They sat in silence for a couple more minutes, not quite comfortable.

"_Light up your face with gladness, Gillian. Hide every trace of sadness. Although a tear may be ever so near, that's the time you must keep on trying."_

"You can go," she said quietly, ignoring the lump in her throat. She attempted a weak smile, but it fell far short of its mark. "I'm okay."

Instead of sitting patiently or getting up and leaving, he shook his head and let his frustration show.

"Why do always do this?" he leaned forward and placed his hand on her crossed arm. "Stop pushin' me away. Why can't you just let me help you, Gillian?"

She bit her lip when he used her first name, clamping her mouth shut as the knot in her throat made it nearly impossible to speak.

"You've got to be the most stubborn woman I've ever met."

She chuckled at this, because she was pretty certain Zoe had the market cornered.

"I'm serious," he replied honestly. "You spend all your time defending me, protecting others, but when you need help, you refuse to ever ask for it. Not after Sophie, not after your marriage, not now. And when you finally do tell me somethin' I've had to wait around weeks until you were good 'n ready to tell me."

Clenching her jaw at intervals, she was starting to wish she'd appeased him earlier and just taken the stupid cake. He _knew_ why. He knew how private she was. If he was going to play this game, then she was going to give as good as she got.

"Why've you been pulling away from me?" she asked the question that had been weighing heavily on her for days. "We were fine one day, then the next, it's like…"

She motioned with her hands, indicating an absence of what once was.

He cocked his head to the side as he propped his arm on the back of the bench and fixed her with _that look_. This time, she turned and met him head on.

"I think the real concern is why have _you_ let me?"

Her eyebrows rose briefly. In typical fashion, he stuck to the heart of the matter with a single blow. She studied his face for a moment, looking for something, anything to give her a clue as to where she should take this. But he was completely blank, and it infuriated her. Just a moment ago, he was asking her to depend on him, but he wouldn't give her an ounce of anything in return.

She smiled at him, but it held no warmth. "Everything's different now, you know that... Old safeguards that we used to have in place — our marriages, our respective fields — those don't exist anymore. I let you pull away because… "

_Because I let you get too close and if I let you, you'd destroy me._

Gillian stopped short and kept her face as blank as she could while he watched her. Then she turned away from him and fixed her gaze on the ground. His silence spoke his understanding, but she wasn't sure that was quite what she wanted from him.

Gillian knew he recognized that she'd let him get too close, that she was starting to see things differently. She loved him, certainly, but she was working very hard not to fall _in love_ with him. A part of her knew it was a lost cause, but out of self-preservation she refused to fully acknowledge it. He was far too reckless for her to think otherwise. She'd made her decision and was choosing to keep their partnership intact at the sake of something she couldn't fully explore. Was too afraid to explore.

She abruptly halted her ruminations. Trust Cal to find a way to make the conversation about him when she'd just been held hostage.

Suddenly Cal stood, and she was torn between hope and fear that she'd be left alone. He started wavering about, one step this way, two steps that. It was his typical dance when deliberating. Apparently making his decision, he leaned forward and grabbed the styrofoam box and pulled back.

Cal turned and started walking away. The tattered strands that were holding her heart together finally disintegrated. Letting out a mangled breath she looked upwards, blinking back tears. She felt like she'd just made some irrevocable mistake.

"Oy Foster?" she was pulled from a blanket of confusion when she heard the impatience in his voice. "You comin' or not? I'm starvin' and can't have you lolly-gaggin' around when Em's macaroni pie is waiting for us."

Unable to help herself, Gillian started laughing at his words, knowing he'd probably chalk it up to _women feelings_. He stalked back over to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her up quickly.

"Honestly, luv, I thought if I'd taken the cake with me, you be more than sure to follow," he said as he started walking away, hand clasped tightly with hers.

"I'm not a dog, Cal," her voice was weak and her nudge in his shoulder was weaker.

"'Course you're not. You're Gillian Foster, the woman who eats gummy vitamins because 'there's no better way to take them', the woman who keeps a tootsie-roll pop in her purse for emergencies. You're the woman who practically re-enacted that God-awful orgasm scene from stupid movie when you ate this," he held the box in front of her face, wiggling it for emphasis.

"It was good cake," she muttered. "Leave me alone. I've had a rough day." They walked on in silence, her hand warm in his. Too warm actually. She was pretty sure her palms were sweating and a bead of sweat was definitely working its way down her back. Humidity was no one's friend.

Just before they reached the car, Gillian abruptly found herself wrapped in the tightest hug she'd ever received, so tight it was hard to breathe. Cal never was good at voicing his feelings; especially fear. Wrapping her arms around him slowly, she burrowed her head into his neck, smiling.

"Could you make me a promise to never get yourself in that kind of a scrape again?"

His words rasped against her neck, hot and scratchy. Something about Cal worrying for her safety did funny things to her heartbeat. She pulled back a little, her hands coming up to hold the back of his neck as she looked him in the eyes.

Smiling sadly, she whispered, "No, Cal, I can't."

"Worth a shot."

She kissed him soundly on the cheek then pulled back. "Wouldn't be much of a partner-in-crime if I gave up that easily, would I?"

Cal smiled, a true eye-crinkling smile, and she reciprocated.

"Ah, there it is," he said as he tucked her hair behind her ear and tugged gently.

"C'mon, let's go," she said finally, "I think I'm getting hungry."

Cal huffed out a laugh as she climbed into the car. After he got in and started up the engine, he glanced over and saw her pondering the box.

"Check the bag in the backseat. Pretty sure there's a fork and napkin back there."

She observed that he hadn't brought the fork earlier — though she hardly cared because she'd have eaten it anyway. Taking a deep breath, she blinked hard and pushed aside the harrowing events of the past day, if only for a little while, and exhaled slowly.

A minute later and Cal had to threaten her to keep the moaning down to a minimum.

"Does it make you uncomfortable, Dr. Lightman?" she asked devilishly as she took another bite.

"No, it's just that you're oozing happiness. Try not to get any on me."

All that met Cal's ears was the musical sound of her laughter, and he knew all was right in the world. For the time being, of course.

"Foster, don't you dare!" Swipe. A line of chocolate streaked his cheek. "Ugh, I cannot believe you just did that. Are you going to lick it off me too?"

Her laughter only grew.

"Is that a yes?"

"Eyes on the road, Cal."

"_Gillian, even if you're having the worst day ever, smile. Smile and take a deep breath; focus on the bigger picture. Even if there are clouds in your sky, smile and maybe tomorrow, you'll see the sun come shining through for you."_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Smile (3/4)

Rating: K for theme

Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian, Emily

Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews and some rumblings

Summary: _"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." _A slightly angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song _Smile_, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. This one changes POV a lil bit, because I felt like it. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

.::.::.::. In which Gillian has a sleepover and Emily learns a thing or two.::.::.::.

Gillian was typing frantically, trying to complete the edits of her most recent study before submitting it to the review board. Fortunately the two graduate students she was working with were overwhelmingly earnest, so the work wasn't half bad. Still, it was an anxiety-inducing period, trying to get the facts straight and the interpretations appropriate and succinct.

Hearing a soft tap on her door, she glanced up and saw Emily waiting outside. Gillian smiled and waved her in, turning back to her work quickly so she could finish her thought.

"Am I interrupting you?"

"You won't be in about thirty seconds, take a seat and get comfortable," Gillian offered as words flitted across the screen. Her thought complete, she turned to Emily and smiled brightly.

"What brings you in today? I thought you had to work this afternoon?"

"As booming as the frozen yogurt business may be, I'm actually here to wait for my dad." The resentment in her voice was hard to miss. Emily was staying with Cal for a month during the summer and last weekend they'd had quite the argument, which resulted in Emily being grounded and Cal being the recipient of the silent treatment.

"Is he offering you one of those fun, unpaid summer internships that are —"

"Character-building and educational? Fortunately, no," she grumbled as she tucked her leg beneath her. "Have you seen him around?"

"Last time I checked," Gillian glanced at the clock on her desk, "which was hours ago, Cal said that he had a meeting in Bethesda and would return when he was finished."

"Figures. He turns off his cell and leaves me to stare at the morbid pictures in his office for hours."

"So that's why you came to visit?" Gillian surmised. It was either boredom or Emily wanted something. Teenagers were far too easy.

Emily shrugged. "That and I brought this," she smiled as she pulled a banana from her bag.

"A banana?" Gillian quirked her eyebrow as Emily placed it on her desk. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"What?" Emily asked, confused. Then she realized the implication and backtracked immediately. "Oh! No. Sorry. I just… wait," she turned back to her bag, retrieving what she forgot. "Here, that should make more sense."

Gillian looked down and saw the snack-sized Nutella container and grinned immediately.

"You are too good to me," Gillian turned and retrieved a spoon from her drawer. "Cal says you're an enabler, but I disagree."

"Like he can talk. He made me to bring him some black raspberry fro-yo in a waffle cone this morning. For breakfast!"

Gillian rolled her eyes in commiseration as she peeled her banana. Then a thought struck her and she froze.

"Did you actually bring it to him?"

"Uh-huh," Emily grinned, the same kind of evil grin Cal wore sometimes.

"This morning?"

"Sure did," Emily's eyes dropped to her other foot, which was drawing figure eights in the air. "Right around the time you got here, as a matter of fact."

Gillian nearly choked on her spoonful of chocolatey-hazelnut deliciousness and leaned forward to take a sip from her bottle of water. Emily's words may have been innocent, but her tone was decidedly the opposite.

"That guy you were with had a really nice car, what was it? A Porsche?"

Gillian frowned and placed her elbows on her desk. She'd left her car in the parking lot last night when she'd gone out to dinner. "So you saw me getting dropped off this morning?"

"More like witnessed a PG-13 grope-fest in the parking lot," Emily replied as she tapped her nails on the arm of the chair. "Which, I can understand. He was good looking."

"There was no… groping in the parking lot!" Gillian sputtered.

"Are you kidding me? Maybe you're still dazed from the lack of air during that time period, but I can assure you, getting pressed against a car and making out for a few minutes certainly qualifies. At least, to my dad it does."

Gillian paled at the mention of Cal. How could she have been so careless? Emily catching her in the parking lot was not the most ideal of situations. Admittedly, she and Michael had difficulty parting this morning, but not nearly as bad as Emily was making it out to be.

"Okay, first off, he was leaving on a business trip and that was…. A parting farewell," Gillian stated quickly.

"That was one heck of a goodbye," Emily muttered. Gillian shot her a look.

"And second, this is none of your business."

Emily smiled disbelievingly as she crossed her arms. "Yeah, right. Need I remind you that you witnessed my father grounding me for two weekends straight for no good reason?"

"You got caught sneaking out," Gillian reasoned. "And you can hardly compare that to…. To what you saw in the parking lot."

"Really?" Emily cocked her head to the side, just like Cal. "Because I think we both have one thing in common."

Gillian frowned at her banana, unhappy with the quick turn of events, "What's that?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe that we're both petrified of my father finding out about our boyfriends?"

Gillian overlooked the obvious and deflected smoothly, "You have a boyfriend? Since when?"

"That's besides the point. I came here to give you some advice, because clearly you don't want my dad poking around in your personal life."

"I don't need any advice, Emily. Your father has no reign over my personal matters, least of all whom I date. You on the other hand, are entirely at his mercy."

Emily frowned, having been duped by the older woman. Gillian rarely got to partake in a prolonged conversation with Emily, especially if Zoe was around. She found that speaking with Emily certainly kept her on her toes.

Emily rallied quickly, moving on to the next order of business. "Well, since you're clearly not going to be busy tonight and I'm grounded, do you want to order Thai and watch Pride and Prejudice tonight?"

Gillian leaned back in her chair and considered Emily's obvious attempt to avoid invasive questioning about her boyfriend. Emily had stayed at Gillian's a couple times over the years, whether for her parent's anniversaries, or going on the occasional business trip. Thus it wasn't a completely foreign or unheard of notion to spend the night at her house, especially when the Cold-War was being simulated in her own home.

"The long one or the short one?"

"Hmmm, I know you have a ridiculous crush on Colin Firth, so I guess we can do the longer one."

Gillian gave a lopsided grin as she leaned back in her chair. As she did so, she caught sight of Cal as he walked up and opened her door.

"Look at you two, brewin' up some sort of trouble. What's goin' on?"

Gillian and Emily exchanged a look: an agreement between confidantes.

"Nothing," they both replied innocently.

"That's the biggest piece of rubbish if I ever heard any. I'd like to steal my daughter if you don't mind, Foster. Got a bit of a project for you," he directed towards Emily as he turned and left Gillian's office.

"I'll stop by when I'm done," Emily huffed out a sigh as she grabbed her bag and followed Cal to his office. Her concentration completely shot, Gillian leaned back in her chair and contemplated the state of affairs.

.::.

After her last couple of relationships had ended so… unpleasantly, Gillian had decided to take a break from dating for a while. Which worked for all of a month. She'd known Michael for several years through a mutual friend and had run into him at a dinner party a few months back. He was a systems engineer and part-time tri-athlete, was 6"1', had dark brown eyes and a smile that could charm off her underwear. They'd spent the evening chatting with each other at intervals and when the time came to part, he'd asked her out for coffee.

Gillian had hesitated, knowing that he wasn't a fan of commitment and had a bit of a reputation as a womanizer. She'd turned him down, but he'd tried once more a couple days later and she agreed in a moment of weakness. What ensued was a rapid-fire lie detection session in a nearby coffee shop.

"Have you ever used drugs?"

"Not now, not ever." _Truth._

"Do you have a drinking problem?"

"I think I may have in college, but now I'm only a social drinker and own maybe two bottles of wine at home." _Truth._

"Is it true, what everyone says about you?"

"That I'm a cheating man-whore?"

Gillian blushed, but shrugged her shoulders.

"No. The fact is, most my relationships only last for three months. I've never fallen in love and enjoy my life just the way it is." _Truth._

"What about the cheating?"

"If I want to pursue someone else, I have enough respect for the woman I'm with to end the relationship first." _Truth._

"You didn't answer the question."

"Yes, I've cheated twice. Once was in eighth grade with Jenny Turner. The second time I was in college and that was during the days where I spent most my time drunk." _Truth._

Gillian nodded. She would still do a background check on him later. God, she was turning into Cal.

"Okay then," she replied as she sipped her latte.

"Okay? That's it? What about my turn?"

"Your turn? What for?"

He shrugged and she spotted a wicked twinkle in his eye. "Turnabout's fair play."

"Fine, you get five questions to completely honest answers. What do you want to know?"

"Give me a second, if I only get five, I want them to count," charm smile. _Oh, he was good. _Then again, so was she.

Gillian leaned forward and let her head fall to the side, dropping her voice as she spoke, "how about you think on it for a while and ask me later over dinner?"

That was four months ago. They still hadn't broken up yet, and he'd only asked her three questions (typically at two in the morning when they were naked and satiated). Their relationship had been informal at best and involved a lot of sex. Very good sex. She'd entered this relationship with no romantic notions, expecting it to be brief and… hot. It was completely uncharacteristic of her, yet something she'd always wanted to do. Gillian could count on one hand the number of times they'd actually spent the entire night together and most of them had occurred within the last month. She wasn't quite sure she knew what to do with that, but didn't dwell too hard. If Michael called her tomorrow and said _it's been swell, but…_ she'd smile knowingly and hang up the phone, no regrets.

"_Always prepare for the worst, Gillian. Always be ready. That way no one can catch you off guard and you won't be left picking up the pieces."_

.::.

"When d'you need to be at work in the mornin'?" asked Cal as Emily and Gillian walked towards the exit.

"I already told you Dad, eleven," Emily's exasperation was evident. "What are you so worried about? I'm just going to Gillian's!"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about, she could be a bad influence on you," Cal stated as he traced his daughters footsteps. "Filling your head with all sorts of nonsense about… raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens."

"I'm right here Cal," snipped Gillian as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Hold on you two, seriously," Cal grabbed both their arms as they were opening the doors. "Just…" he searched for the words but couldn't articulate his thoughts. "Have a good time, 'kay?"

Gillian watched Cal's face as he leaned over and planted a wet kiss on Emily's scrunched up cheek then tugged her to his side. Pure, unadulterated love and affection on that man's face for the briefest of moments. Then it broke and he looked back up at Gillian blankly, gave her a quick nod and turned away. Something…. wasn't quite right.

"Emily, take my keys and head over to my car, I'll be right there," Gillian said quietly as she smiled warmly. Gillian turned and jogged up to Cal who was turning the corner.

"What's wrong? You said it was okay for Emily to come over, so why are you acting like this?" Gillian asked, completely confused. Cal turned to face her and for some odd reason, he was angry.

"Are you serious?" Gillian asked without waiting for him to respond. "How are you mad at me? I promised you I'd never interfere and I don't intend to start."

"I've spent the whole week getting monosyllables from that one, and then I come back from a hellacious meeting and traffic up to my eyeballs to find you two chattin' it up in there like nothin's wrong."

Gillian tried to make the connection, that perhaps he was frustrated with Emily and tired of bearing the brunt of her scorn. Never in her right mind would Gillian intrude on the relationship that Cal and Emily share, it wasn't her place. She was well aware of what she could and could not do, and Cal's parenting of Emily was beyond off-limits. Clearly, he was nervous that she would impede in some way.

"Cal," Gillian started quietly, "I'll take good care of her."

Turning, she walked away, knowing he was watching her path through the empty halls. She didn't elaborate on her vague statement, because she knew he'd figure it out in an hour or two.

The Lightman Method was a powerful technique and could work on the most dangerous of individuals, but sometimes, it was weakest against those who counted most.

.::.::.::.

"Wait, you're giving me the chance to choose?" asked Emily suspiciously. They were in pajamas and had already devoured two helpings of take-out.

"Sort of," Gillian replied. "Your options are: Pride and Prejudice, short or long; or… Hoosiers!"

"Gillian, as much as I love you, I'm going to have to decline the offer to watch guys run around in super short shorts and opt for Colin Firth."

"Hey," Gillian replied as she took out the DVD and put it in the player, "I will have you know that those shorts were one of the best parts about basketball!"

"I bet," replied Emily as she settled in on the couch, pulling up the blanket for Gillian when she returned.

Gillian smiled to herself as she sat down. Emily was a good kid. She got in trouble and made typical teenager mistakes, but she had a good head on her shoulders. Throughout the whole evening, they talked about a variety of things, including her mom's new boyfriend, but both stayed carefully away from their respective love lives. Gillian knew that if she waited Emily out, she'd eventually talk about whatever it was that was bothering her.

And something was certainly bothering her, because no self-respecting sixteen-year-old would willingly spend the night at their father's business partner's house for the heck of it. Though, sneaking a glance at Emily all cozied up and content, Gillian almost wondered a little bit.

It wasn't until hour two, when both their eyes were starting to get droopy, that Emily even mentioned something. Quiet and hard to discern, her words spilled out over a haughty British monologue in the background.

"There's this guy… he, well, he's dating one of my best friends," Emily toyed with the edge of the blanket, frowning to herself. "Except, lately, he started texting me and posting on my twitter page making random comments, asking if I wanted to hang out."

Gillian pursed her lips. She didn't like where this was going.

"The other night… when Dad caught me, he thought I was sneaking out to meet a boy," Emily sighed as she looked down to her lap, her hair covering her face.

"But you weren't," Gillian whispered as she leaned forward and gently tucked Emily's hair behind her ear.

"No, I'd gotten another text from _him_ and I'd promised myself that if he sent another message I'd go to Laura's and show her so I'd have proof that she was dating an asshole," she stopped abruptly and glanced at Gillian, muttering, "sorry."

Gillian smiled at Emily's gaff and waited for her to continue. "Dad didn't believe me when I said I was just going to meet a friend, but I couldn't tell him what was really going on either. It's just… it's getting old. He doesn't trust me any more so I constantly have to watch everything I do or say. "

Waiting for a minute or so, Gillian tried to sort out how she wanted to take this. Her job was not to interfere, she reminded herself. That was more Zoe's domain, and she was very adept at being a mother, a skill for which Gillian couldn't find fault. As with her clients in the past, Gillian would listen and provide the guidance, the tools, to let Emily work through her problem.

"Why couldn't you tell him what was going on?"

"Well, it didn't help that Laura was at a party at the time, a party that I'd been invited to and turned down because Dad and I were hanging out," Emily said resentfully.

"So he heard 'party' and 'boy' and kind of lost it?"

"Pretty much," Emily sighed as she leaned her head back on the sofa cushion.

Gillian braced her arm on the back of the couch and leaned her head against her hand. "Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"Once, and we haven't really spoken since."

Gillian frowned as she tried to sort this out. Other factors were involved, she was certain, but was reminded once again that it wasn't something she could dwell upon.

"Emily, I'm going to tell you a secret, that I'm pretty sure you already know, but you need to hear it anyway…. Adults do not have all the answers. When your dad jumped to conclusions, he did that because he knows what can go wrong at parties and he was unable to see past that. You are the most important person in his life, hands down, and the thought of anything bad happening to you terrifies him."

"But nothing bad was going to happen to me, I was _trying _to protect my friend."

"I know that, but does he? Trust me, I know how difficult it can be to have a conversation with Cal when he's angry. But through the years, especially when I can't get him to see my side of things, I just have to be patient and wait for him to pull his head out of his butt long enough to listen. Doesn't always mean everything works out, but at least I get to speak my peace."

Emily smiled, glad that at least one person had a proven method for working with her dad. At least Gillian's way didn't involve yelling that echoed off the walls throughout the entire house.

"Did you ever get in touch with your friend, tell her what happened?"

"Yeah, when it was too late," Emily frowned. "She came by work on Monday, and I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen. I showed her the text and she said I was making it up. So, not only is Dad mad at me, but so is Laura."

"You know, something like that happened to me when I was a little older than you," Gillian replied after a moment. "Not the part with my friend's boyfriend hitting on me, because I was… well, I wasn't the girl guys went after. But, I witnessed a situation in which my best friend was being cheated on. When I told her what happened she accused me of being jealous and said some… really hateful things."

"What happened?"

"She caught him cheating two weeks later at the country club," Gillian replied with a rueful smile.

"What about your friendship though?"

"Oh, that was fine. I could understand where she was coming from, she was afraid and thought she was in love with him, so hearing that kind of news was hard to take. Especially from me."

"Why you?"

"Because I told her when they first started dating that he wasn't that great of a guy and that she should be careful."

"How'd you know?"

Gillian looked down at her lap then back to Emily, "because he'd been my boyfriend first."

Emily made a face, "Ouch. That's… awful. I'm pretty sure that breaks about five different codes of friendship." Emily ruminated for a few moments then looked back to Gillian. "Well, at least your Dad didn't appear out of nowhere and yell at you in front of all your friends. That's embarrassment you can't make disappear."

Gillian froze briefly at Emily's words and turned away quickly, clearing her throat.

"Do you want some hot tea? I think I'm going to make some," Gillian picked up Emily's mug and stood.

"Yes, please," Emily replied, confused by what just happened. Feeling torn, she got up and followed Gillian into the kitchen. From first glance, it appeared like nothing was wrong, but Emily was her father's daughter, and could certainly tell when Gillian wasn't acting her usual effervescent self.

"Did I say something wrong?" Emily asked quietly, seemingly breaking Gillian from her thoughts. Looking up from her position by the stove, Gillian smiled warmly, shaking her head.

"No," she replied assuredly. "Of course not."

Emily walked over and leaned against the island opposite Gillian, crossing her arms determinedly. Gillian didn't say a word as Emily stood before her, face completely blank as she reached for another mug and pulled out the box of teas. Quite the adversary, that Gillian Foster.

"Do you want chamomile and honey?" she asked as she thumbed through the assortment shielding her face from view.

"Sure," Emily replied, watching her. As Gillian busied herself with getting the tea ready, Emily stood quietly for a few moments. She had a feeling about something and decided to go with it. "I'm sorry."

Gillian turned to Emily quickly, confusion on her features, "Sorry? What for? You didn't do anything."

"… for what I said earlier, I don't exactly know anything about your Dad, so I can't say for certain whether or not he would have yelled at you."

The teakettle whistled and Gillian poured them some hot water and retrieved the honey from the cupboard. Setting it on the counter next to Emily, she pulled out some spoons and handed one over to the young woman who was looking at her expectantly.

"I see the way you watch us sometimes, when you think we're not paying attention… you never had that with your father, did you?" she asked quietly, watching Gillian closely. She could see Gillian's lips thin slightly and Emily knew she was skating on thin ice. Time to back off.

"Emily…" Gillian warned quietly as she stirred the honey in her cup, watching the dark ribbon liquid swirl around her spoon. Shaking her head, she looked up at Emily and sighed.

Emily realized that whatever she was trying to push, it was clearly making Gillian uncomfortable. Of all things, she did not want to be guilty of that. Being mean to Gillian was like trying to drown a kitten; it could be considered a criminal act against nature… or something like that.

"Sorry, forget it, forget I said anything," Emily said carefully as she grabbed their spoons and placed them in the sink behind her. Turning around, she practically pleaded for neutrality. "Come on, let's keep watching the movie, okay?"

She didn't wait for Gillian to respond as she headed back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch. Gillian followed soon after and resumed her seat, sitting with her knees folded close to her chest. Emily wondered if Gillian was even conscious of her body language. Defensive posture like that could be spotted from a mile away.

After spending the first twenty minutes fretting about what she'd done, Emily couldn't find it in herself to relax. Slowly though, she felt Gillian ease up, and in turn, felt herself breathe easier. It wasn't a fun position to be in, the one who'd put that look of tense caution on Gillian's face. Fortunately, by the end of the third hour Gillian had finally propped up her legs on the large ottoman, carefully balancing the mug on the arm of the couch.

Emily rose to switch out the disks, disregarding the late hour. They'd promised each other to see it through to the end, and she was going to hold up her end of the bargain. When her back was to Gillian, she finally heard the other woman speak and stiffened slightly at the solemn tone of her voice.

"When… when I was a kid, my —" she exhaled before saying the word, "_father_ used to drink… a lot. Unfortunately, where I grew up and in my family, we didn't talk about such things, and we certainly didn't let our neighbors or friends know about it. "

Emily turned slowly and watched Gillian, her head bent as she peered into the mug.

"We both have something in common," Gillian motioned between her and Emily, glancing up briefly. "My father was brilliant and he had a temper, much like your Dad. But that is where the similarities between them end… because your Dad spends _every single day_ trying to be a good parent to you, loving you no matter what; whereas mine didn't bother until it was too late."

Gillian tucked some hair behind her ear and though she wasn't crying, Emily could see the faint sheen of tears being refused. At that moment Gillian looked Emily straight in the eyes, regret and sadness and her inherent sweetness shining through. "So… no, Emily, I've never had the kind of relationship you have with your Dad."

Emily was completely speechless. Gillian rarely divulged much of anything about herself and to learn something so personal, especially in relation to her situation with her own Dad — well, it made for quite the contrast. She absently wondered if Gillian had ever told her Dad, but something about this whole conversation told her that she was one of the select few privy to this information. Gillian gave Emily a feeble grin, an offering of sorts that said apologies and forgiveness don't need to exist where trust and love abound.

It was so quiet that Emily nearly jumped out of her skin when the familiar music from the DVD started up on the TV behind her. She must've made a funny face, because next thing she heard was Gillian's laughter. The moment was most assuredly broken.

"I'm sorry, but your reaction was priceless," Gillian said as she brought the blanket up to her mouth covering her smile.

Emily shot Gillian a mock glare as she marched over to her seat and settled back in, grumbling the whole time. "Hmph. I leave my warm seat on the sofa, put the DVD in, and all I get for thanks is you — laughing at me."

She stilled her motions when she felt Gillian's hand on her arm. "Thank you," she said with a hint of a smile on her face, but Emily knew it was more than a simple 'thank you'. Swallowing quickly, she grinned back at Gillian and nodded, "no, thank you. _Really_."

The corner of Gillian's mouth quirked upwards and she leaned her head back on the sofa, hunkering in a little bit. "C'mon, two hours left and we still have to watch Mr. Darcy dive into the pond," Gillian whispered as she pushed play. Emily merely giggled and rolled her eyes at the older woman.

"You're insufferable."

"That's what your dad says."

"For once, we agree on something."

.::.::.::.

The next morning, Gillian awoke with a sore neck and Emily's foot lodged in her side. Glancing at Emily down at the other end, she seemed perfectly content, so Gillian wasn't too worried. Even though she had a wide, exceedingly comfortable couch, she wasn't quite sure it was designed to accommodate herself and a teenager who liked to sprawl out.

Gillian picked her head up off the arm of the sofa and tried to figure out what it was that woke her and heard the sound of knocking at her door. Somehow, she managed to extricate herself from Emily's sleeping form and wobbled over to her door. Running her fingers through her hair, she peaked out and saw Cal waiting with two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag.

Opening the door, she stepped aside as he came in, and then shut the door. She saw him give her a once-over and immediately crossed her arms, shaking her head at his obvious scrutiny.

"Are those… cupcakes on your pajamas?" Cal asked as he leaned forward and inspected the soft fabric of her pajama bottoms. Gillian frowned at him and quickly maneuvered none to gracefully out of the way, pointing him to the kitchen. She returned to her bedroom to put on more suitable support than whatever her 'reinforced camisole' was providing.

When Gillian returned, she'd pulled her hair up into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and wiped the sleep from her face. Cal held out the cup of coffee, fixed just the way she liked it, and watched her take her first sip.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"There appear to be gingerbread men on your pajamas as well. Really, Foster, you have an unhealthy fascination with baked goods," Call replied as he poked at a dancing cupcake on her thigh. She backed away from him and leaned against her counter, shaking her head.

"I see Emily staged a hostile takeover of your couch," Cal said as he nodded towards her living room. "Did you enjoy Miss Elizabeth in her pursuit of happiness, last night?"

Gillian smirked at him from over her cup. His question was innocent enough, but she was adept at reading between the lines. "It was… a little bumpy, but she got there in the end. How was your evening?"

"Dull. I did laundry and drank an excellent bottle of red wine… or two"

Gillian took another sip of her coffee then peered over his shoulder at the brown paper bag on the counter top. He traced her gaze and sighed. Cal grabbed the bag and handed it over, watching as she opened it with undisguised curiosity.

"Ooooh scones and muffins, yum," she stated as she looked up at him with a gracious smile of delight. There had been a look on his face when he was watching her, one she couldn't quite place, but it evaporated quickly and she was left to wonder.

"Plates are right behind you," she said as she turned to the island and started pulling out the scones. He came up behind her and set the plates just to her left, but didn't move away. Gillian wasn't quite sure what he was playing at, and tried to ignore him as she set the scones on the plates. When he leaned to the side and put his elbow on the counter, she realized what he was waiting for and turned to him partially, giving him a patient smile.

"All I'm going to say is that I know she's broken your trust in the past and that she needs to earn it back, but you need to give her the benefit of the doubt sometimes, Cal."

"Last time I did that she came home tipsy," Cal replied, brushing his arm against hers to grab a scone. "So I think my suspicion is warranted."

Gillian picked a blueberry out of her scone and ate it, ignoring his obvious attempt to be imposing. Taking another blueberry she glanced at him as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I think that sometimes… you spend all your time looking for the lies and deceit that you miss the truth when it's right there, Cal."

"Is that your professional opinion then?" his tone was brusque, causing her to sigh and look at her plate with exasperation.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, and some even deserve a third and a fourth," she said quietly, pointedly. Placing a hand on her hip, Gillian turned to face him fully, less than a foot between them. It was one part bravery and one part sheer stupidity to unabashedly read each other, especially when he had the advantage of seeing her in her pajamas without her 'face' on yet. Still, she was in her home and Gillian was never one to underestimate home-court advantage.

After a few moments of silent conversation, Gillian could finally read the understanding in his eyes, keeping tense contact until a soft cough from the doorway broke them from their staring match. Realizing how close they were standing, Cal took a step backwards while Gillian turned to get Emily a glass.

"Am I interrupting something?" asked Emily, a crooked smile on her lips.

"No, Foster was just telling me what a poof Mr. Darcy is," Cal replied as he drained the last of his coffee. Gillian mouthed 'untrue,' shooting Cal a disgruntled frown as he waggled his eyebrows at her.

"I find that hard to believe," Emily croaked as she walked into the kitchen. Surprising both Cal and Gillian, she gave Cal a full-fledged, airtight hug. Cal seemed confused for a split-second, then quickly wrapped his arms around Emily, keeping her tight against his chest. Gillian distracted herself with getting Emily some orange juice while giving them a moment.

"Love you, dad," came Emily's muffled voice. Cal kissed her on the top of the head and whispered the same thing in her ear. Just as they released each other, Gillian's home phone rang. Cal, being closest to the handset, picked it up and tossed it to her.

She smiled her thanks then answered, "Hello?" It was Michael, _awkward_. "Hey, yeah hold on one second." She turned to Cal and Emily who were both looking at her expectantly and a little too curiously.

"Here you go," Gillian handed Emily the orange juice. "I'll be right back."

Gillian walked down the hall and into her bedroom, shutting the door. Emily watched her dad as he traced the other woman's every movement, his antennae immediately on alert.

Emily rolled her eyes as she slid onto a stool at the counter and began eating her cranberry-orange muffin. Glancing up at her dad, she could tell he was trying to glean something from Gillian's conversation, but all that could be heard was sporadic laughter. That alone made him curious. Anyone who could make Gillian Foster laugh like that was worth investigating in his book.

Emily knew that her dad had a way of… sucking women into his world, especially when he fixed them with that soul-searching look. Few people could actually take it, and even less could turn it back on him. Gillian was certainly one of those people, always had been. It annoyed Emily to no end how they could have entire conversations without even saying a word.

What she just witnessed… well, she imagined they were having some form of mental sparring match; however to the average person it looked like good old-fashioned eyesex. It especially didn't help that Cal kept checking out Gillian's choice of sleepwear when she wasn't paying attention.

Emily inwardly sighed. Those crazy kids were going to be the death of her.

"So… Foster says I may have… jumped to conclusions the other night," Cal started slowly.

"Well… yes and no," Emily replied, taking a sip of orange juice quickly. "You were right in assuming I was sneaking out to go to a party, but you were wrong in that I was going there to speak to my friend, not to party."

"And it was of the utmost urgency to speak with her at 11:40 at night?"

Emily shrugged. "It _was _a time-sensitive matter." She returned her father's gaze, showing no hint of deception. "Look, I can't exactly share why I needed to go, it's… a girl thing. But, I can say that I had already been invited to that party and I turned it down… to watch a movie with you. I tried to sneak out because I figured if I told you where I was going, you'd have said 'no' and I would be… in the exact position that I'm in."

Cal appeared to be weighing her argument as she held her breath, waiting for him to deliberate. Suddenly he grinned at her and tapped her on the nose.

"Why didn't you say that to begin with, luv?"

Emily's jaw dropped as she shook her head at him. "Unbelievable. You're kidding right?"

"What?"

"Do you not realize how impossible you can be once you start off on one of your yelling fits?"

As Emily said this, she reminded herself that however awful she thought her dad could be, Gillian's was probably worse. Having newfound perspective wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Patiently, Emily watched him shuffle through Gillian's cupboard, pulling out a canister of coffee grounds. He opened the container and breathed deeply, then dumped a questionable number of scoops into her maker before setting it to start. When he turned back to her, he crossed his arms as his head fell to the side.

"I admit I can be… a tad… bull-headed in my pursuits. However, I am never going to be able to trust you if you keep lyin' to me. I understand you had an important matter to take care of, but you can't just go off in the night like that, expectin' to get off scot-free. Doesn't work that way."

Emily frowned as he continued to speak. At least he wasn't yelling at her. It was progress, though she figured it had something to do with the fact that Gillian was in the next room.

"Still," Cal said as he walked up to her and tucked one of her wayward strands of hair behind her ear, "I believe you. Just… next time, please find a way to do it so that I won't have to ground you."

"So I'm still grounded? Even though I told you the truth?"

Cal turned back and poured some steaming hot coffee into his mug. "Definitely. But you get bonus points for 'fessin up and good behavior."

Slumping over the counter, Emily sighed just as Gillian exited her room, an undeniable smile on her face. She must've been on the phone with Mr. Grabby Hands. Emily immediately looked at her Dad to see what his reaction was and she smiled at the obvious suspicion on his face. So caught up in her own delight, she nearly missed the imperceptible headshake that Gillian gave her father.

"So, what are you up to today, Foster?"

Like a moth to a flame, Gillian honed in on her scone and took a bite before bothering to respond. "Let's see, I'm meeting a girlfriend for yoga and then lunch at ChurchKey. After that, I'm heading to the office to go over the final edits before I send off on Monday."

"I thought you were done with that," Cal stole a small piece of her scone and received a tap on his hand and a glare in return from Gillian. Emily just smiled.

"I am. I just… want to make sure," Gillian said sensibly. "You know how I am."

"Perfectionist, much?"

Gillian shot him a disparaging glance as she topped off her mug. "What are you doing later? I know we have a burgeoning frozen dessert entrepreneur who'll be working until closing."

"God save us," Cal replied. "Em, if this becomes anything more than a summer job, don't even bother coming back home."

"Duly noted," Emily replied without skipping a beat.

"I plan on starting a dozen different tasks and leaving them all unfinished."

"Sounds fitting."

"Fitting and timely," Cal said as he nodded at the clock. "Em, best get your stuff, time to shove off."

Spotting a blueberry on Gillian's plate, Emily snatched it as she passed by, nearly choking when Gillian said: "What is with you people and grabby-hands this morning?"

Emily got a flash of Gillian pressed up against that car by Mr. Grabby-Hands and couldn't help but blush and cough on the wayward blueberry. She felt Gillian's hands rubbing her back and suddenly stopped coughing and took a deep breath. Once Emily could see straight, she turned back to the adults and shrugged innocently.

"I'm pretty sure that was a fine example of Karma," stated Cal as he stroked his chin pensively.

"Hmph," Emily replied as she left to grab her bag.

Gillian stacked the plates and set them in the sink, choosing to turn her attention to Cal while they waited for Emily.

"I guess you deserve a 'thank you,' for working your voodoo magic on my daughter," Cal offered as he drained the bottom of his mug.

"And I'd say you're welcome, if you were thanking me. It's all unnecessary anyway, because I didn't do anything."

"_Right."_

"Seriously, all I did was listen," Gillian replied as she crossed her arms while holding on to her mug. She waited for him to say something, but all she got was a silent opponent, studying her. Normally, she'd care, especially if they were at work. She was reminded once again that she was in her pajamas, without make-up, in her very own kitchen. It couldn't get much more personal for her. Something about being at her most basic form in front of Cal was liberating at times.

"Okay, I'm ready," Emily emerged with her bag and a non-romance book of Gillian's.

"That better be real literature," said Cal as he sent Gillian a smirk.

"It's summer reading, actually. Gillian happened to have _A Prayer for Owen Meany_ in her collection."

"A prayer for who?"

"Dad… come on! I'm going to be late," Emily said as she headed towards the door, Cal and Gillian following. Cal opened the door for Emily who halted right before crossing the threshold. Turning, she gave Gillian a tight hug, whispered 'thanks', then skipped down the steps.

Cal just shook his head at his daughter, shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded farewell to Gillian. She waved good-bye and was about to close the door when she heard Cal's voice.

"What?"

"From before… How many chances have you've given me?" he asked carefully, watching her closely.

"I don't know," Gillian shrugged quickly, not even bothering to think about it. "Real friends don't keep score."

Cal took this for the truth that it was, because he knew for a fact that if she'd kept track, his life would be deficient of one Gillian Foster. He cracked a knowing smile at her as she leaned against her doorframe in all her adorableness, and then turned towards the sidewalk to his impatient daughter.

Gillian was smiling to herself until she heard Emily's voice before they climbed into the car.

"Dad? Have you ever thought about getting a Porsche? I understand that some women find them attractive."

"Is that so? And what sort of _women_ have been telling you such things?"

"Only the best of women, I assure you," came Emily's reply.

Gillian could practically hear the mischievous smirk in the tone of her voice. Gillian frowned, suddenly remembering that she'd never asked about Emily's boyfriend. That girl… she was Cal Lightman's daughter, through and through.

"_You know that saying 'forgive and forget? I figure you should forgive and learn. But don't forget. Never forget. How else will you learn or remind yourself why you love them?"_

.::.::.::.

A/N: ChurchKey is a delicious restaurant in DC, not mine. Also, chronologically, this chap occurred about a month after last chap. And… that's about it. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Smile (4/4.5)

Rating: K for theme

Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian, Loker

Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews, sort of includes _Sweet Sixteen _though 99% of this was written before SS aired._  
_

Summary: _"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." _A slightly angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song _Smile_, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. So… this chapter is huge. HUGE. I had to break it in two. It is huge because Foster is complex and I feel that it would take a lot to accomplish what I'm trying to do. ANGST AHOY! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

.::.::.::. In which Gillian finally meets her threshold.::.::.::.

Puzzles. Gillian loved puzzles. She preferred figurative over literal, but she loved them. She believed that humans were walking puzzles that lived in a state of flux — that their behavior was an outward manifestation of a piece to their metaphorical puzzle.

Her current case was a puzzle. Cal had passed it off to her two days ago on his way to the Capitol, claiming that he'd been given the rundown. He couldn't take it because a bigger case came up, but it could be worth her while. Of course, he neglected to mention the miles of red tape surrounding it.

Like the fact that twenty-year-old Brandon Lewis was currently in the ICU after getting caught in a local meth lab explosion. Like the fact that the D.C. metro police authorities already figured that he was the one at fault, even though he was unconscious and could neither deny nor admit to the crime. Like the fact that _nothing was adding up_ and something bigger was definitely going on.

For the past two days, she and Loker had interviewed dozens of people and posited several theories as to what had really happened. Problem was, the evidence was pointing to Brandon being guilty. Still, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, because something _didn't quite fit_ and she was bound and determined to figure it out.

"Brandon Lewis," Loker exposited for the benefit of the assistant du jour helping them with some legwork, "twenty year old from California, born into a wealthy family, left home when he was eighteen on a full-ride to Georgetown, apparently at the top of his class in college. On all accounts, he's a nice guy, keeps to himself."

"Then why was he caught near a meth lab on the sketchy side of town?" asked the _brilliant_ assistant. Gillian cast him a sideways glance, wondering if his jeans were so tight that they were cutting off circulation to his head.

"That's your job to figure out," Gillian replied as she handed him a short stack of folders. "We need you to call up some of his family out west, we need to know what made him come out here."

"Got it, boss," he replied as he grabbed the folders and headed to the conference room to spread out.

Gillian shook her head as she turned back to Loker. "Well, at least we managed to get a little help on this case. What is Lightman working on that has everyone occupied?"

"Something about the BP fiasco," said Loker as he stretched quickly and took a seat. "Word on the street is, the Senate is out to roast some Brits and they called Lightman in to lead the cavalry."

"How did I not know this?" asked Gillian as she thumbed through the folders.

"Maybe because you've been working this case nonstop?" Loker replied sensibly. Just then, Gillian's phone buzzed, indicating she had a text message from Michael. Disregarding the twinge of shame, she ignored the message and continued her perusal of Brandon's file..

Gillian wasn't quite sure why, but there was something about this case that intrigued her, something that reminded her of her days at the Pentagon — when secrecy and mystery were the par for the course. She had that dull unnerving feeling that there was a cover-up going on, but she couldn't quite figure out the players involved or the reasons why. It was the kind of case Cal loved and something he'd have picked up on immediately. The way he'd so easily passed off the case only added to her curiosity.

Gillian and Loker resumed review of their footage for a couple hours until the assistant returned, mighty pleased with himself.

"Brandon's fam is loaded, but he didn't take a cent when he left for school. Spoke with his mom who hadn't heard from him since Christmas. She said that he'd always been a good kid, worked hard at school, tutored students, did community service. Your regular do-gooder kinda guy."

Gillian and Loker exchanged glances. Very similar to the story they got from his classmates at Georgetown.

"What about his family life?"

"He's the oldest kid, his dad's some big time real-estate guy in California. Apparently pops likes the homebrew a bit too much, his mom attributes his drinking to one of the main reasons Brandon left home."

"And the mother?" Gillian asked, her voice sounding hollow in her ears.

"The mom was helpful but she sounds like your typical benzo queen on botox. She's so hopped up on feel-good pills that I doubt the fact that her son being in the hospital even fazed her."

"So you told her that Brandon was in the ICU and she didn't care?"

"Eh, she seemed a little bothered, but not enough to cancel her hair appointment."

"Wow," Loker replied. "And I thought my parents sucked."

Gillian pushed down the sense of déjà vu that she got from hearing about Brandon's family and tried to focus on the bigger picture.

"Did you get in touch with the father?"

"Nah, his secretary said he was in a meeting. That's Californian for 'he's at the golf course'. But, I managed to get in touch with a high-school buddy of Brandon's who said that our guy was valedictorian in high school, got on well with everyone. Apparently right after graduation, Brandon's best friend, Emile Campor, got into some sort of trouble and disappeared off the face of the earth. Tore up Brandon pretty bad."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I'm assuming that since this was preppytown, it had less to do with gangs and more to do with drugs, but the friend couldn't say for sure. It was all really shady."

"Great work," Gillian replied, the first shred of hope she'd had since the case began. "Pull up any articles you can find that have to do with the disappearance of the best friend. And… keep trying with the dad. He knows something."

"How do you know?" asked Loker as he swiveled towards her.

"Powerful men don't stop being powerful just because you put an entire country between you," Gillian replied enigmatically.

.::.::.

It was the next day and Gillian was starting to feel the strain of being overworked and low on sleep. Brandon was still unconscious and they couldn't find any evidence of the best friend's whereabouts. Reynolds had randomly dug up a box of surveillance of the meth lab, but couldn't reveal how he'd come across it. Meanwhile the local authorities had pretty much closed the case despite the new evidence, claiming that Brandon was the perpetrator.

On top of everything else, Gillian started out the day on the wrong foot and it seemed to be going downhill from there. Her morning meeting with Cal only served to establish that he was aggravated with her for some unspoken reason, and that she was annoyed with him for hoarding all their manpower. At least she still had Loker.

"I'm starving," muttered Loker as he scrubbed his eyes with his palms. "Foooood?" It was nearly two and they'd been working on the surveillance and audiotapes since eight without a break. A meal was definitely in order.

"Sounds good to me," she replied. "Should we go somewhere or get take-out?"

Before Loker could respond, her cell phone chimed with a text message. It was Michael.

"Ouch, still giving your beau the cold shoulder?" asked Loker as he swiveled around in his chair carelessly. "The clench in your jaw is textbook. I almost want to take a picture."

Gillian shot him a glare. They'd been working together far too much lately. It was making her stir-crazy. A lot of things were as a matter of fact. Out of spite, Gillian returned the text— a request for lunch, then looked over at Loker.

"You're on your own for lunch. Be back by three so we can finish up," she said as she stood quickly, grabbing a couple files on her way out.

"Can't believe you shafted me," Loker called as she reached the door. "Better go easy on him!"

Gillian rolled her eyes as she left the lab. She needed to remind Loker about boundaries again.

She took a deep breath as she walked into the warm September sun, getting a blessed reprieve from that stupid case. The reprieve would be bittersweet, however, because lunch was not going to be satisfying in any way.

When she and Michael began this relationship, it was supposed to be easy and fun and enjoyable. And short. She'd spent the last two months waiting for him to break up with her. But it never came and she had never felt the desire to end it. Then she committed the cardinal sin of casual relationships: she started to develop… feelings. The onset was very insidious, nothing that shouted at her or gave a big red warning sign. Not until last week, at least.

They'd had a late dinner because she'd gotten off late and his software program kept having glitches and he was against a deadline. Instead of adhering to their status quo which involved dinner, a walk, sex, occasional pillow talk, and departure — they just… went to bed. And slept. It hadn't been awkward in the morning, nor did he say anything about it later the following night when they only had time to have dinner then part ways. It was then that she realized that she had a problem.

Gillian didn't just like Michael; she _liked _him. As in, she enjoyed his monologues that sounded like they were scripted by Grey's Anatomy writers, she liked the way he held her hand, how he would always drag her away from what she was doing to watch the sunset — so they could watch the day fade away. For someone who was so adamantly opposed to long-term relationships, he was doing a poor job of proving that to her.

When she realized with startling clarity that she wanted to know where their relationship was going, she knew she was in trouble. Michael had been expressly clear in saying he had no interest in the long term, and at the time, that was about all she could handle. But they've been dating for six months now; and he spent the night at her place at least two or three times a week. Based on her thorough knowledge of Chicklit, this relationship had far surpassed the fling stage and was entering 'unhealthy relationship' territory of repressed emotion and poor foundation. Great sex did not make a good basis for a relationship, no matter what her favorite authors thought. As much as she liked him, she didn't think she could put herself out there and be truly vulnerable for someone else. Not right now at least.

So, for the sake of all parties involved, she was going to make a pre-emptive strike and end it. Otherwise this was going to hurt a lot worse later and she wasn't sure she could handle that.

Entering their favorite deli, she saw Michael leaning against the wall as he waited. He was so cute standing there in his light green button-up, looking out over the Potomac river. Gillian bit back a frown, this wasn't going to be fun.

"Hey!" his face brightened as soon as he saw her, walking over and giving her a kiss before she followed him over to a table. "I took the liberty of ordering your usual, if that's okay. How's everything going?"

"Fine," she replied, feeling tense. "I've been stuck in a dark room for over five hours listening to video feed of a possible drug den. It's been delightful."

He smiled at her, but it didn't quite meet his eyes and she could tell something was on his mind. Their number was called and Michael stood to collect their lunch, giving her a second to breathe. It did not help.

"You've been avoiding me," Michael stated plainly as he took his seat and handed over her sandwich. _Okay then_, maybe he'd be the one to get this show on the road.

"Yes and no," she conceded. "I really have been busy at work, but I haven't tried to make any effort to get out of it either."

"Any reason why?"

Gillian hesitated. She was awful at breaking up with people. Awful.

"Let me guess, either you don't want to do this anymore or you want this more than you should… and it's starting to bother you?" Michael said as he leaned forward on his elbows, watching her closely when she shrugged. He never cocked his head to the side in contemplation, nor did he slouch. Michael had excellent posture, actually. She kept her eye contact but didn't speak, suddenly curious as to whether he could have this entire conversation without her even having to participate. "I'm going to go for the latter. You know why? I'm in the same boat."

Her eyebrows shot up briefly in surprise, but drifted downwards again in practiced nonchalance. Michael was smooth, smoother than she gave him credit for and she needed to be on guard.

"Gillian, I know when we first started dating that I said most my relationships only lasted for about three months, and now we're somewhere in the middle of our sixth and you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. The thing is, I just…"

Michael stopped and looked away for a moment in hesitation. She could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he was holding back. The psychologist in her wanted to know why, but the woman did not.

"Remember when we were having dinner last weekend and you said that I had a 'fear of intimacy'?"

"I was joking." She suddenly felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest.

"No you weren't. Psychologists don't joke about that kind of stuff," he replied as he took a sip of his iced tea. "… But then I got to thinking about it, and… you're just as bad as I am."

"What?"

"We've been together all this time, and I hardly know anything about you. I know your likes and dislikes, I know what you do, I know who you are. But I don't _know you_. Did it ever occur to you that it goes both ways in this relationship?"

Gillian frowned. This was _not_ how a breakup talk was supposed to go. Staring down at the table, she tried to figure out what to say, because she could feel her defenses going up and she never reacted well when under attack.

"I'm sorry, but when was this ever anything more than casual? When was I supposed to bare my soul to you?" her tone was harsh and she immediately hated the way she sounded. And people wondered why it took her so long to address things?

But Michael was patient and far too understanding for his own good and gave her a calm smile, "You're right, this was only supposed to be casual, and I never expected anything more than that. But the more I was around you the more I _wanted_ to be around you, _all of you_, even the ugly stuff. I haven't had that in a long time, Gillian. Please understand where I'm coming from, because this isn't easy —"

Time to nip this in the bud before she said something she'd regret.

"I'm not so sure you should finish your sentence," Gillian stated quickly. Casual was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be pain free. This was _not_ pain-free. He was making sense and that was not allowed.

"Let's make this easy, okay? We both have issues, ones that we've never bothered to consider because this was going to be short lived, except it wasn't and now we're dealing with the consequences. Now we're at that point where these things matter and we actually care about each other, but neither of us is willing to change. So, for the sake of the last six months and the good times that we've had together, I'm going to end this while both of us can get away relatively unscathed."

"Gillian, just wait a second, okay?"

She realized that somewhere along the way she'd stood up and now so was he. She studied him for a moment and she could see the tension creeping into his shoulders. Shrugging off her regret, she tried to swallow the confluence of emotions that were forming a knot in her throat. Just then his cell chimed and she had never been so grateful for an interruption in her life.

"I've got to take this," he stated, frustration evident.

"That's fine," her voice was tight. How was she supposed to leave again? "I've got to get back to work."

"Can we please finish this over dinner?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, we've said all we needed to say," she replied blandly as she turned to the door. Sensing his hesitation, she felt her resolve weaken momentarily. "Just… call me when you get off work if you feel the need. Otherwise, thank you… for everything."

She brushed her hand over his then left as he answered his cell. The walk back to work was long and hot and felt distinctly like an exercise in the perils of modern love. Did she really just _thank him_? Clearly she was not cut out for casual dating. She was more of a 'go big or go home' kind of girl.

By the time she reached the office, she'd managed to pluck up some form of fortitude. Maybe she'd let Loker look over the tapes and she'd get paperwork done then head out early. As she walked down the halls she could smell Mexican food wafting through the air and was reminded that she hadn't actually eaten her lunch. No matter, she lost her appetite anyway.

"Ah, you're back, great," said Loker as he walked from the break room. "How'd lunch go?" She shot him a _don't go there_ look and he smartly kept his mouth shut, following Gillian into her office. "I was thinking that we could cut the time in half if you'd let me run the voice recognition software."

"You know that software isn't going to pick up half the voices because we've already got it at max volume and we're still struggling. It won't hold up in court and we need this to be perfect," Gillian replied as she set down her purse, keeping most of her face obscured from view. She took a deep breath and turned to find Loker leaning on one of her chairs, arms crossed, watching her. Disregarding his obvious scrutiny, she carefully schooled her features and leaned over her computer to check for any new emails.

"Do you have those emails I printed out from my guy with the US Marshals?" she asked absently. Loker disregarded her request and scratched his arm.

"Why does this case interest you so much? Why does it need to be perfect?"

Gillian tried to hide her frustration, but he caught it immediately. "This case interests me because that kid is innocent. He may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he did not do what the authorities are claiming."

"You visited that kid at the hospital last night, didn't you?"

Ignoring his question, she turned back to her file cabinet and searched for the file of a similar case. She could not handle Loker in addition to her unpleasant lunch. This was _not_ her day.

"Look, I'm not saying you're guilty of this, but does any of your past have to do with this case?"

Oh, for crying out loud.

"Are you insinuating that I'm projecting?"

"No…" Loker replied quickly. "It's just that the kid's dad used to drink all the time and I know —"

"No, Loker you _don't know_," her voice was low and serious. "You have one piece of information about me that was taken completely out of context, nothing more. Do not apply what little you _know_ to this case and assume it is personal for me, because you are completely mistaken."

She stood quickly and rounded her desk, breezing past Loker entirely. Pushing through her door, Gillian could feel him following right behind. Her heels clacked on the floor as she stalked purposefully into the lab, picking up the two discs she'd left earlier. When she turned around Loker was right behind her and she nearly ran smack into him. They both took a step backwards and she went to move past him, but he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her.

"Don't leave, okay? I'm sorry… I was out of line," he said sincerely. Holding his gaze for a moment longer, she could see his regret and anxiety. She was over-reacting and it wasn't fair to him.

"No, I'm sorry," she replied as she looked down. "I'm… not in the best of moods and you're probably bearing the brunt of that. It's just… this case."

She stepped away from him and took a seat next to his chair, waiting for him to slide in next to her. They got back to work quickly and had gotten into a groove when a thought suddenly struck Gillian.

"Eli, what… what made you think I was projecting?"

"Nothin' really," he shrugged. "It was more of an offhand comment that Lightman made the other day when you said you were dropping by the hospital to check on the kid."

"So _he_ thinks I'm projecting?"

"No, I think he's afraid you're going to overlook something because you're so convinced this kid is innocent."

Gillian bit her lip in consideration. She hadn't worked a case with Cal since Emily started back to school and that was weeks ago. Things had been okay between them lately… for the most part. He'd studiously avoided any topics having to do with her relationship with Michael, for which she was thankful. After the way her last relationship ended and the way Cal behaved… she didn't need to go through that again.

They worked in silence a few more minutes, but Gillian's heart wasn't in it. All she could do was think about the conversation she'd just had with Michael.

"Am I a hard person to get to know?" she asked unexpectedly.

Without skipping a beat, Loker replied, "yes."

"Really?"

"I have a notepad of questions I've always wanted to ask you, I kid you not. You may be all sunshine and daisies, but when it comes down to it, I figure that's just a front. We all do it though, so…"

"But…" Gillian floundered. "We've worked together for years." She sighed as she leaned back in her chair, not caring if he could read her.

"Well, as you so kindly pointed out a little bit ago, I know assorted and random things about you, but nothing to make a cohesive picture," he rubbed his chin as he looked over at her. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we probably know more about Lightman than we do about you."

"That's because his past has a bad habit of appearing at the most inopportune times and it gets the better of him."

Loker shrugged in agreement, turning back to the computer as he sipped his soda.

"Was that your indirect way of telling me I can go hunt up that notepad?"

"Hardly," Gillian stood for a moment, feeling a little queasy from going to so long without food. "I'm going to make some tea, want anything?"

"A lobotomy?"

"Maybe when I've gotten all I need out of you," she replied darkly as she opened the door, rolling her eyes when she heard his reply: "Kinky."

Blinking at the bright light filtering into the hall, Gillian turned when she heard her name. It was Michael, walking like a man on a mission down the corridor towards her. This was… unexpected.

"Michael? What are you doing here?"

"Finishing our discussion." He smiled brashly as he walked up and cupped her cheeks, then pulled her in for a kiss. Soundly. Mind-dizzyingly. Caught off guard, she hardly reacted. Then instinct kicked in and she tilted her head to the side and slid her hands up the plane of his chest, gripping his collar tightly. If there was one thing they were good at, it was the physical aspect of their relationship. She wasn't quite sure how long they kissed for, but she was pretty certain it far exceeded the bounds of common decency and what was appropriate for the work place.

"Wow, so that's what you mean when you say you're _making tea_," interrupted Loker from the threshold of the lab, voice thick with amusement.

She and Michael broke apart at hearing his voice, both clearly caught up in the moment. Having the decency to look bashful, Michael stepped a way and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I uh… we need to uh…"

Gillian wiped her lips and smiled at his obvious and rare befuddlement. "Go in my office. And… talk." She grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him towards her office.

"Sure Gillian, tea… talking, _whatever you say_," Loker called out, smiling as she shot him another glare over her shoulder. Loker watched as Michael held the door open for her, smiling to himself. _That was unexpected._ His smile quickly dissipated as he watched Lightman swagger down the corridor with Torres close behind. By the set of his jaw and the scowl on his face, Lightman had clearly witnessed what just occurred. Loker groaned inwardly. And things had been going so well lately. No jealousy issues, no tense meetings, just work.

Instead of the expected reaction, Lightman walked by and tapped him on the shoulder. "In my office. Need your help."

Furrowing his brow, Loker frowned. This did not bode well. Having an immediate and unpleasant reaction from Lightman was preferred over him bottling it up, because that meant he had a plan and those were never good. Ever.

Mildly perturbed, he looked at Torres who shrugged in reply as she followed Lightman into his office. Loker glanced once more in Foster's direction, wondering whether or not he should give her a heads up that he was being reallocated for the time being.

.::.::.

Gillian was running on fumes. Yesterday she'd given in and let Michael speak his peace. He admitted that he was not in any way interested in breaking up with her, but actually wanted her to come away with him the following weekend. She'd told him she needed to think about it, sort of take a chance to regroup before she agreed to anything. After the summer she'd had, she felt like she was being stretched too thin and the thought of fully opening up to Michael was a little more than she could handle. Maybe she was isolating herself, maybe she was just being careful. Regardless, she didn't dwell on it too much.

After he'd left, she'd learned that Loker was needed on Lightman's case, which took precedent. Cal had made his request innocent enough, but in retrospect, she realized it hadn't been a request and he'd been watching for her reaction, not to whether or not she'd agree. He was up to something and she was beginning to think it had more to do with her case than she suspected.

Burning the midnight oil, Gillian got in touch with Brandon Lewis's high school friend who said he had old party footage of Brandon with Emile Campor, and had agreed to send it overnight. After reviewing the footage that morning, she knew exactly what she was looking for on the audiotapes and landed on it pretty quickly afterward. It was Emile Campor on the tapes at the supposed meth lab, of that she was certain. Shortly after, she got in touch with their liaison at the metro D.C. police department, hoping to see if they'd be willing to re-examine the evidence.

"I need Loker," said Gillian as she entered Cal's office, not caring if she was interrupting.

"He's working on something," Cal replied without looking away from the footage he was reviewing.

"He's _supposed_ to be working on my case," she watched him, his passive-aggressiveness wearing on her.

"Which was suspended as of last night, if I recall correctly," Cal replied as he glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Well… it's not. I'll need him for two hours, after that, be my guest," she stated, not waiting for Cal's reply as she left his office.

"Foster, this case is dead in the water," Cal called out from his doorway, watching as she collected her purse. "Let it go."

She turned to him and sized him up. There was something he wasn't telling her. He never backed off from a case. Ever.

Instead of heeding Cal's words, Gillian leveled him with a look of suspicion. "Whatever you're up to cut it out. I'm serious."

"Me too," he replied. "Drop the case."

Gillian shook her head at him as she walked away, calling for Loker.

.::.

Their liaison was more of an old friend of hers than a detective, but he worked in the department and had the ability to get information that she would not otherwise be privy to. They'd agreed to meet two blocks west of the State Department in an out of the way coffee shop.

"I can't stay long," the detective said. "I'm supposed to meet my partner at Foggy Bottom for a stakeout."

"This'll be quick, I promise. Just had a couple questions," Gillian smiled as she glanced at Loker who nodded encouragingly. "When P.D. contacted us to work the case, were they actually interested in figuring out if Brandon Lewis was guilty, or were they trying to cover up something bigger?"

She watched the complete shock followed by guilt that overcame his features, "Wow, you don't mess around Gillian."

Taking that as an affirmative, she pressed on. "So, the case was suspended because… why? Was it even a meth lab? I reviewed the crime scene report and there was no mention of drugs or related paraphernalia on site. Out of the sake of curiosity, was Brandon Lewis collateral damage? I know his father isn't just a real-estate agent in California, unless _drug-trafficking_ means something different out there."

"Gillian, I'm telling you with your best interest at heart, here. You need to drop your investigation, okay? It doesn't matter whether or not the kid caused the explosion. We suspended the case because the Feds ordered it. If you have any questions about that, then maybe you should talk to your F.B.I. buddy."

Frowning, Gillian shook her head. She hadn't been able to get a hold of Reynolds for two days. He'd been sent down to the Gulf for Cal's investigation.

"Got it, I understand. I just… just wanted to know," she replied with a thin smile. The detective nodded and left, leaving her and Loker sitting at the table in contemplative silence.

As they finished their coffee, another gentleman entered, looking like thousands of other government agents in his nondescript suit and sunglasses with a mildly noticeable bulge of a gun holster at his side. Instead of walking to the counter, he sat at the recently unoccupied chair and removed his sunglasses. Fixing Gillian with a cool stare, he flashed his badge and began speaking.

"I'm Special Agent Brian Cooper with the Bureau. We've been tailing you for a couple days now, just thought I would extend a professional courtesy and let you know that we've ordered the D.C. police to halt their investigation."

"It doesn't matter that an innocent kid got caught up in the middle of all this? Just as long as your_ operation_ can continue?" she asked derisively.

The agent ignored her and continued. "I just wanted to request that you also suspend your investigation, or we'll be forced to intervene."

"Is Emile Campor under witness protection?" she asked, disregarding the man's words.

"I have no knowledge of Emile Campor." The distinct flare of his nostrils told otherwise.

"Was Brandon Lewis in the wrong place at the wrong time or was this whole thing intentional? To get at his father?"

Her question seemed to tweak the agent and he felt the need to elaborate in order to keep her quiet.

"Doctor Foster, I think it's time you understood something. This isn't a simple matter of whodunit. This is a poly-agency affair to take down one of the largest drug rings in the country and has involved nearly eighteen months of undercover work. We are not about to allow a persistent kid to mess all that up. "

"So you admit that Brandon had nothing to do with this?"

"Look, all I'm saying is that if you don't stand down, we will go to great lengths to discredit you and your firm. From what I've learned about your business partner, it shouldn't be too hard."

The agent stood and left just as quickly as he'd arrived. Gillian clenched and unclenched her fists at intervals, feeling vaguely like she'd been duped. She and Loker left as well, walking in the direction of the car.

"So it's a government cover-up? Not just, woo there's a UFO, but a true-blue, 'This never happened' kind of thing? I mean, it's obvious that the Agent knew about Brandon, I just wonder if it was an accident that he got caught in the explosion."

Gillian walked around a crowd of tourists and shook her head. "No… remember what he said? _We're not about to allow a persistent __k__id to mess all that up_? They're banking on the fact that Brandon isn't going to wake up. I 'm beginning to think that they used Emile as bait for Brandon and that Brandon figured out there was some type of op going down."

"So the question is, do we let this die, or do we get to the heart of the matter?" Loker asked as they reached a corner. Waiting for the crossing signal, Gillian glanced at the opposite corner and froze immediately, her mind going completely blank.

The signal changed and Loker started walking without her, then halted when he realized she hadn't left the sidewalk.

"Gillian?" asked Loker as he turned back to her.

Gillian's gaze remained fixed across the street on Alec. He was standing in line outside a street cart, holding hands with a younger, prettier woman than Gillian. Flicking her gaze to the woman's left hand, she also noted the engagement ring as well as her very pregnant status. A wave of nausea hit her like a sack of bricks and Gillian sucked in air quickly. Tracing her line of vision, Loker tensed at what he saw. Silently, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her across the street to where the car was parked.

Of all the times to see Alec, it had to be today. Today when she had the worst case ever, today when her partner was up to no good, today when she was at the end of her rope. She knew she was bound to run into him sooner or later. D.C. wasn't that big a city when one frequented the same locations time and again. Alec eating lunch outside the State Department was hardly an anomaly.

The ride back to the office was uncomfortably quiet. Gillian had checked out entirely once Eli started the car and hadn't even realized it when they'd pulled into the parking lot. He left the car idling, staring out in front of them, obviously at a loss for what to do. She knew that Loker had been vaguely aware the whole time of what she'd gone through with her husband, _ex-husband_, but they'd never openly discussed it. She hadn't openly discussed it with anyone.

For her part, Gillian was trying to swallow the shock and the anger and the overwhelming… jealousy at Alec's success at starting a new family. Well, he got what he wanted, just had to erase her from the picture. Good to know she was so easy to replace. God, her freaking ex-husband could start a new family and she couldn't even commit to a weekend away with a wonderful man? What was _wrong_ with her?

Taking a deep breath, she ignored Loker's concerned gaze as she blinked hard. She would get through this; she had to. She was succeeding for the most part. All she needed was a minute to get herself together. Later tonight, when she was alone in the privacy of her own home, she'd let the pain leak out of every pore, but for the time being she had other matters to focus on… to distract her from the sharp feeling of loss in her chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Loker offered uncertainly. Gillian glanced at him then back outside, the sky growing overcast. "No, I want you to forget you saw anything. And don't even mention it to Lightman, got it?" Shaking her head, she unclipped her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Loker got out and started walking with her to the building, clearly at odds with himself.

The dull sensation of suspicion she'd had since the case began was becoming more profound the closer she drew to the building. Turning to Loker, she asked him what she'd been wondering since the beginning.

"Did Lightman put you up to this?"

"What?"

"The case. It's been off the entire time and reeks heavily of Cal's influence. Did he ask you to work an angle or give him updates or something?"

They'd both stopped and she watched him closely, taking in the shame and guilt that crossed his face. Gillian blinked hard and exhaled, shaking her head in astonishment.

"He didn't tell me why, he just wanted me to let him know what was going on, that's all."

The events of the past few days and especially the afternoon had added up. She'd reached her threshold. Something within her finally broke.

"The case is officially suspended," she stated evenly. "Tell him we're done." She saw confusion pass over Loker's face, surprised at her easy surrender. The worry on his features was evident as he caught the way she phrased the last part.

The chirping of her phone broke the tension. Answering it, she found that she was speaking to Brandon Lewis's mother. Oddly enough, Mrs. Lewis was at the hospital, he'd awoken, and the mother said Gillian was the first person she thought to call.

"Don't tell anyone else he's awake," Gillian stated firmly. "I'll be right there."

She ended the call and started searching for her own keys.

"Let me drive," Loker replied as he started walking back to the car.

"No," she replied as she found her keys. "Go back in and work with Lightman. I may go down for this, and I don't want to take anyone else with me. For you, it's over. That's all you need to say when he asks."

Loker realized that not only did she not trust him, but that she was giving him an out. She was serious. His hesitation was obvious as he tried to figure out what to do.

"Gillian —"

"Get back inside, Loker. I'm fine. I can handle this by myself."

.::.::.::.

A/N: Okay, so there are a lot of elements going on right now, and the five of you who read this are probably all dumsquizzled at the moment. Do not fear, the second part of this chap will be posted either today or tomorrow and some resolution will be achieved.


	5. Chapter 4 in a half

Title: Smile (4.5/4.5) COMPLETE! -ish?

Rating: K for theme

Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian, Loker

Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews, sort of includes _Sweet Sixteen _though 99% of this was written before SS aired._  
_

Summary: _"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." _A slightly angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song _Smile_, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. Alright kids, not gonna lie, this'll rip out your heart. JSYK. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

.::.::.::. In which Gillian asks Cal a question .::.::.::.

Gillian left Loker in the parking lot and drove to the hospital, operating entirely on autopilot. Somewhere between that damn coffee shop and her driver's seat, Gillian had experienced some type of disconnect… a disassociation with her feelings. She recognized that the potential for this meeting to go badly was huge. Mainly because she couldn't let it go.

As she strode down the monochromatic hallway of the ICU, Gillian flashed a smile to Brandon's attentive nurse who was familiar with Gillian's visits by this time.

"How is he?"

"It's touch and go right now. We're having problems keeping his heart rate under control."

"Are his parents here?"

"Only his mother. She left to make a phone call in the lobby."

"May I see him?"

"Yes, Mrs. Lewis asked him if he'd allow visitors, so you should be fine. His monitor might beep a bit, but don't worry."

"Thanks," Gillian replied. She entered the room and walked to the chair she'd occupied for a brief time in the past few evenings. Brandon was dozing, but woke up when she took a seat. He had burns over sixty percent of his body, mostly third and second degree, as well as lacerations along his left side.

"Who are you?" his voice was scratchy from disuse.

"I'm Gillian Foster. I was… well, I was hired to determine your participation in the explosion last week. But it appears that the investigation has been suspended."

"Are you a cop?"

"Hardly. Just a private consultant."

Brandon watched her for a moment, taking labored breaths. After taking in her appearance, he seemed to deem her as a non-threat and began speaking.

"It wasn't a meth lab," Brandon whispered quietly. "That was just a front… the man who owns that house was trafficking drugs and weapons."

"What were you doing there? Were you following Emile?"

Surprise flashed across his face, then he appeared to debate in his head what to reveal and what to hold close.

"Yeah," he whispered as he flinched. He took several shallow breaths and continued. "When we were in high-school, Emile got caught up in some pretty bad stuff, drugs and shit like that. Then he disappeared one day without a trace. The only time that happens is if you're murdered or if the Feds do something with you."

"How'd you track him down?"

"Dumb luck," he replied stubbornly. No bother, she didn't really care.

"Sorry, I had to ask. If you won't tell me how you found Emile, can you at least tell me who he's gotten mixed up with now?" Brandon lay quietly for a few moments and if it weren't for the tension in his shoulders, she'd think he'd fallen asleep.

"Your father isn't _just_ a real-estate agent. Is he?"

Brandon shot a glance at her then looked away, swallowing hard. The disgust and contempt he showed at the mention of his father was undeniable.

"Was Emile a recruit of his? Someone to do the legwork? You think he got caught in high school and the government offered him a deal? Basically turn in your dad and Emile gets off?"

The truth was written plain as day on his face. It broke her heart. What little of it there was left.

Brandon began speaking again, sounding weak. "…I followed Emile around for weeks. Didn't think he knew I was tracking him. Then I found out my father put a hit on him, and I tried to warn Emile. Only…"

"Only Emile already knew what was coming and you were collateral damage?"

Brandon frowned and bit his lip, nodding slowly. "I just don't know if it was my dad or the Feds who tried to do me in. At this point, it hardly matters."

"Why?"

"My father is a dangerous criminal. Back when I was in high school I knew that he was being investigated by the Feds and I didn't do a thing about it. After I graduated, I got so caught up in trying to find Emile that nothing else really mattered."

"Emile lured you to that house," Gillian stated, growing frustrated. "You don't owe him a thing."

"I owe him _everything_," Brandon said with conviction, "he's like a brother to me. These past few months, I got in over my head and started poking around where I didn't belong… I can assure you, if the deal he made with the Feds brings down my father, then it wasn't for nothing."

"What about you? You were innocent in all of this."

Brandon glanced at her, forcing out a disbelieving huff. "My selfishness, my… indifference to what my father does makes me just as much an accomplice as Emile. I pretty much sealed my fate when I chose to go after Emile, because I proved my affiliation to my father's _company_ by using his… resources."

"So I should drop all this?" Gillian asked, slumping in dejection. "Do you even care that our government may have tried to kill you?"

Brandon winced, but she figured it was out of pain and not her question. "I'm almost certain it was my father, messy explosions are more his style."

"Fine then. The Feds arrest your dad and you do the time for the explosion, even though you had nothing to do with it?"

"I imagine they'll try to cut a deal with me if I tell them what I know."

They remained quiet for a few more moments, Gillian begrudgingly resolved to walk out and drop the whole thing. Dropping cases, especially one as important as this, did not settle well with Gillian. She was not a quitter by nature, never had been. She heard him mumble softly and looked over to find him watching her.

"I know your voice. You visited me, didn't you?"

Gillian shrugged as she stood. "I should go. Your mom's here and you should spend some time with her."

"No, stay. Please," the desperation in his voice surprised her. She resumed her seat and waited for him to talk. "She's probably calling _dear old dad_, telling him that his _idiot son_ didn't have the decency to die when he was supposed to."

Gillian frowned at his words, the anger in them. He tensed up again and she could tell his pain was getting worse. He gripped the sheets by his hips tightly, riding the wave of pain out.

"Can you have more pain medicine?"

"They just gave me some dilaudid. I'll probably fall asleep soon. Would you mind waiting until then?"

"Of course not." Gillian settled in her seat, completely at a loss as to how she'd gotten here over the course of a week. She didn't think it was because she could see so much of herself in him, in the path he'd taken. Sometimes cases hit home for no reason at all, and on this occasion, that was the best she could come up with.

"Why'd you keep coming? You don't even know me." Brandon's eyes were drifting shut.

Before she could reply, his heart monitor started beeping ominously and his nurse poked her head in, frowning at what she saw. The situation quickly deteriorated as Gillian, forgotten and frozen in the corner, watched as Brandon's heart stopped beating despite the best efforts of the critical care team. Thirty-three minutes later, they called time of death and Gillian mutely left the room, completely at a loss. His mother was nowhere to be found.

When she reached her car, she reflected that the only reason she'd kept visiting was because she didn't want him to be alone.

.::.

Gillian trudged downed the darkened corridor to her office and dropped her purse by the door, the day finally having taken its toll. She was exhausted — mind, body, and soul. Her gaze unfocused, she glanced around at the furniture, the books on the bookshelf, the clutter on her desk. She felt… she couldn't even summon the correct label for the way she was feeling at the moment. Though one emotion was surfacing more predominantly than all the others: anger.

The person at whom it was directed was not in the office at present, but she knew he'd show up soon. She was trying to decide whether or not she wanted to wait him out because the impending argument was bound to get heated. Gillian wasn't exactly in top shape for a one-on-one with Cal.

The psychologist in her would love to intellectualize the past couple day's events and her reaction to them; to figure out a way to place them into a neat compartment in her mind. Problem was, Gillian's entire brain had shut down, closed for business. There was only so much one person could take and she'd exceeded her limit around the time she saw Alec. Watching Brandon die ensured a certain victory for that insidious foe, _Despair__._

So, she fell into default mode and operated on auto-pilot. Gillian typed up her report, saved it to the network, then promptly deleted it. The case had been suspended, after all. No use in leaving a paper trail for the Feds to come and destroy.

Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the jar of pixie sticks on her desk. Something about them turned her stomach. Grabbing her wastebasket, she upended the jar, watching the multi-colored tubes clatter to the bottom. Feeling an odd sense of relief, she looked around her office for other things to discard. Like a hurricane, she swept through, tossing away snacks, candy, notes, journal articles, knick-knacks. If Alec were around he'd easily recognize this as her 'creating order' phase. It usually followed one calamity or another and was the only way she could calm down when her world was falling apart.

And her world? It was most definitely falling apart.

Thinking about Alec and how happy he'd looked, how… complete he appeared, made her falter a bit, momentarily losing her focus. Shaking her head to clear the haze, she looked in the bag she was holding and realized she was about to throw away her phone. _Oh dear_, she might want to keep that.

There was… too much going on for her to assimilate. Too much. And she didn't know what to do. She walked to the corner in a futile attempt to claim some order. Taking in her office, she found the neatness to have a mild anesthetizing effect.

Hearing the telltale scuffle of shoes outside, her calmness dissipated rapidly. Gillian's insides churned and she began to wish that she'd left instead. She was in no shape to be dealing with this man.

Cal opened up her door and took a couple steps in, tensing quickly upon seeing the pile of waste she'd collected. "Bit late for spring cleaning, isn't it?"

His tone sounded more antagonistic than playful. She surveyed his posture from her position behind her desk, the careful slouch of his shoulders, the slight lean of his head as he took her in. The familiarity of it all made her long for the days when she was naïve enough to think he couldn't actually hurt her.

Taking a moment, she tried to figure out the best way to start this conversation. Instead the words came out pressured and quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

"Tell me that it was all a coincidence, that none of this was your doing… and I'll believe you," the desperation in her voice rang in her ears.

He was silent for a moment too long and the full impact of that unspoken admission finally connected with her, finally made the entire day's events seem real. It took her breath away as she turned and clutched her chest, the tightness too painful to bear.

"Foster —"

"What was the basis of this partnership?" anger replaced desperation, reverberating through her entire body. "What did we both promise to never do to one another?"

"You don't understand —

"It was that we would never use _our science_ on each other without invitation!" she yelled at him as she punctuated the air.

"Over the years, I've come to expect a lot out of you, and rarely am I ever surprised. But this? How long have you been planning it? How long have you been wanting to turn me into a science experiment?" Her voice increased in pitch and she knew he could see how close she was to unraveling.

"Now just wait a minute, that was never my intention, and you know it."

"You gave me a case with a kid who's past you _knew_ I'd relate to. You purposefully withheld valuable information, needlessly dragging the case out, using Reynolds and Loker like pawns. You soaked up all the manpower and you refused to give me full disclosure. You didn't even give me a heads up about the Feds' involvement," she took a breath and put her hands on her hips.

"But the best part — the part I didn't get until _after _I watched Brandon Lewis _die_, was that none of it mattered. You knew the moment you got the case that it was part of a bigger operation and that it would get shut down, yet you still gave it to me, watching how I'd react."

"All I wanted was for you to ask me for some help," he stated simply.

"For help?"

"You used to come to me. You used to stroll into my office at all hours, wanting to _talk_… about cases, about people, about… life. Now all I get is a brief hello during a meeting."

Gillian took in his words and was at a loss for a moment, utterly flabbergasted. When she could find her voice, her tone was low and dangerous and entirely disbelieving.

"You… you engineered an entire situation to where I'd be forced to rely on you?"

"Over the past few months, you've been pulling away from me, little by little. I finally realized it for what it was, I tried every other option — talking, Emily, simply being around… waiting for you to remember that I'm here."

"Do you realize how ridiculous that is?"

"It's not ridiculous! It's not ridiculous when you acknowledge what's at stake here," his volume was elevated as well, indicating they were both on the edge of doing irreparable harm.

"What's _at stake_? Cal, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere!"

"You might be here, but that doesn't mean that you're _with me_. You've… you've become this shell of a person over the past few months, don't deny it," he said as he held up his hand, stopping her from responding. "I first spotted it when Zoe was still comin' around. Not that it was jealousy, but it all must have triggered somethin'. I let it slide then because it's what you do, waffle back n' forth."

Gillian crossed her arms, as she exhaled angrily. She could feel the fury coming off her in waves.

"I wasn't bothered 'til that whole hostage mess, that was… Foster you walked right past me when they brought you out of the building. I followed you all over the bloody city and you didn't even have a clue. I bet that's when you started having problems sleepin', wasn't it?"

Cal took a couple steps forward, tilting his head to the side slightly as he examined her face. She merely clenched her teeth, her entire body tensing at his scrutiny.

"That why you took up with that fella? To distract you from the fact that you only get, what? Three — four hours of sleep a night?" A flicker of understanding crossed his features. "Yeah, I get that. I get that I do. Sex helps you forget quit a bit. Bet you didn't expect him to care so much, didja?"

At the warning look in her eyes, Cal backed off.

"You didn't use Emily to get to me, did you?"

"Nah," he replied quickly, but hedged when he saw her disbelieving frown. "A little. It was more… resourcefulness on my part."

"What, were you testing me that morning?"

"Nah, just checkin' to see if you were still able to relate to anyone. Figured if you couldn't even get in touch with my daughter, then I was in serious trouble."

"Because I have a weak spot for her?" Gillian pinched her eyebrows together, feeling so completely… violated. Still, she couldn't be surprised and that was even worse.

"No, because you _get_ her. Always have."

"What about this case?"

"Literally fell into my lap a couple hours before the other case. I knew the basics about his back-story, but the whole thing looked dodgy enough that there was reasonable doubt that it wasn't as straightforward as it seemed. The old Foster would've breezed into my office and started tossing theories around, and we'd have been done with it in an hour. It's not that the case didn't matter. It's that you _made_ it matter."

She frowned. He was right. Completely.

"But you, you've turned into this… this woman I can barely identify and I refuse to let you continue on the way you have, it's not right. You keep trying to put this distance between us, for what? To protect yourself? To keep from getting hurt?"

Gillian stared at him in amazement, dumbstruck. Did he not realize how much his actions affected her?

"Seriously? All you've done lately is hop from one risky situation to the next. You've passed the point of redemption for your past actions and simply become reckless," her voice wavered and she swallowed hard. "One of these days, you won't come back and this place will fall apart without you. I'm not sure if you realize this, but it's _your name_ on the wall outside."

All these months, all the pain and turmoil she'd bottled up and now it spilled out, so inarticulate, so jumbled. Just like her life.

Shaking her head, she ran her fingers through her hair as she allowed her shoulders to sag in defeat. "It's not even the fact that you insist on putting yourself in these positions anymore. It's that you don't care whether or not you come back."

"I care!"

"No, you really don't. You care about the rush; you care about the momentary gain. It's the most high-risk form of gambling imaginable and you're not going to change, you won't make that kind of sacrifice."

Gillian had rounded her desk at this point, but hadn't actually come any closer to him. She didn't think she could bear it.

"If you really cared, you'd actually think about what it does to Emily, what it does to the stability of this company, what it does… to me," she blinked hard at her admission, continuing vehemently, "So yes, Cal… I pulled away and took a step back, I chose myself, because sooner or later you're going to lose and I refuse to be the one left behind."

Her words echoed off the walls in her office and she realized that perhaps she was a little too… unhinged at the moment to be having this discussion.

Cal took a couple steps forward, his voice a mere whisper. "Is that what you're afraid of? Me leavin' you behind?"

Gillian looked down to the ground, not really certain if that was the case or not. There was a part of her that wanted to confess, to lay herself out in front of him. But there was a bigger part of her that was afraid to be so completely open, at the mercy of someone who gambled with his life and her well-being. At the moment, she couldn't take that risk, because she had nothing left in her. Nothing.

She summoned what little strength she had left and tried to remain passive. Looking up at him, she saw the sorrow in his eyes, the dour droop of his shoulders. It only served to harden her resolve.

"No. That's not it," she replied steadily, squaring her shoulders. "Because that would imply that I _needed_ you and as you've observed, I've worked very hard the past few months to make it to where that wasn't the case."

Cal frowned at her words, but she wasn't sure if they even had the intended effect. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, which clearly confused him because he couldn't tell whether she was lying or not. They watched each other for a few endless moments, reading what was left unsaid.

"Gillian," he took a step closer with his head bowed, leaving them a couple feet apart. "I can't… I can't lose you."

His voice was hoarse and ragged, and she caught a glimpse of the man underneath all the bravado. It was all too much. She was finding it hard to breathe and glanced at the door fleetingly. Not today, she couldn't do this today.

"You won't lose me," she whispered as she stepped away. She knew her actions didn't mesh with her words and his doubt was evident. "I just… I can't do this right now."

"What do you mean?"

"I… need some time. If I'm going to be able to do this, if I'm going to keep working with you, I need to make sure I know who I am… without you."

"Isn't that what you've been doin' all along?"

"No, I was making sure you knew who you were without me," she replied haphazardly as she bent down to grab her purse. It must've weighed a thousand pounds.

"That's completely mad. What are you… what are you on about?"

"If you can spend six months trying to figure me out, I'm pretty sure you work that one out for yourself," Gillian looked up at him, shrugging, "You can't keep going out there, taking for granted that I'll be here when you get back."

Cal's eyes widened briefly causing her to backtrack. "I mean, I'll be here, physically. But I won't be able to stay _that person_ for you. " She needed him to understand what she meant. She'd always be there, but the degree of closeness she'd be willing to maintain — that would not always remain.

"I'm not your ex-wife, I'm not someone you can use when the moment strikes, I'm not your reserve for when all else fails, and I am certainly not someone that you can use as a science experiment. I am your partner, Cal… _Remember that_."

She walked past him and placed her hand on the handle of her door, tucking her hair behind her ear as she turned to face him. Gillian absently wondered if he could see the actual ache in her heart, pulsating throughout her entire body. Biting her lip, she looked at him and hated what she was about to do. Even in her uncertainty, she was going to force him to question his very nature: "The way I see it, your past is in your past, you can't change that. No matter how many people you try to save. So you need to ask yourself Cal, is this partnership enough for you? This company? Your family? Is all this worth the risk you insist on taking?"

"Don't do this," he said softly, shaking his head.

Gillian gave him a sad glimmer of a smile, a promise that she'd return and the fear in his eyes lessened. She repeated her request as she opened the door, murmuring softly as her eyes made cool contact with his.

"... Am_ I_ worth it?"

With that, Gillian left her office, left him behind in the darkness and the silence. If only she'd stayed to listen, she'd have heard his quiet, reverent reply, the conviction and truth in his words.

"_You're worth it, and so much more_."

.::.::.::.

A/N: Not quite sure I like how I ended that. Before I get steamrolled, be aware that I don't think Gillian would ever ask Cal to consider that were she in the right frame of mind. But I also take the perspective that Cal makes the choice to go out and do those things because he gets off on it now, and Foster keeps finding a way to excuse it out of her own guilt.

A/N2: Also, I actually do have an epilogue of sorts, because this does leave things hanging, though I can see it ending the way it is as well. So, I mean... should I go for it? Meh. :/


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Smile *epilogue*  
Rating: K for theme  
Pairing: none, Cal, Gillian FRIENDSHIP  
Spoilers: A few vague ones for the back nine, based on previews, sort of includes _Sweet Sixteen _though 99% of this was written before SS aired._  
_Summary: _"Smile when you're feeling sorrow, my dear. No one looks twice and you don't have to explain yourself." _An angsty look into the psyche of Gillian Foster. Cal/Gil friendship.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to me or it's characters. Smile is based off the song _Smile_, originally sung by the fabulous Nat King Cole.  
A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. This is **huge** and I honestly don't have the time to snip it down. I apologize. But it's over. FINISHED.

.::.::.

_"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."_

-C.S. Lewis

.::.::.

After spending Friday night and the wee hours of Saturday morning manically cleaning her apartment, Gillian realized that no amount of cleaning was going to get her out of this… situation. More drastic measures were required and fortunately, she knew just what to do. She made a call, dropped off her spare key at Michael's, gave him a long kiss and said she'd return in a couple weeks.

Armed with a small suitcase, her passport, and a hefty wad of cash, Gillian booked a seat on the next available flight out to Paris. If her youth had taught her one thing, it was to always have a Plan B and to always, _always_ cover her tracks.

Locking her deadbolt then tossing her bags into her trunk, Gillian drove to the office and dropped off the schedule. Contemplating for a moment, she pulled out a slip of paper and carefully composed a message. She pulled out her phone, scanning the contact list for a few numbers and copying them into her day planner.

Leaving the phone and the papers in the center of his desk, she took one look around then shut the door.

Gillian did not look back.

.::.::.

Scruffy and unshowered, Cal strolled into the office Sunday afternoon to pick up a couple files to work on at home. What he found on his desk gave his heart a little stutter; his chest squeezing painfully like all the air had left the room.

_Cal-_

_I'm taking a two-week leave of absence. Enclosed is the master schedule for the duration. I've left Loker and Torres certain tasks that you won't want to deal with. You're in charge of my phone; I do not wish to be contacted while I'm away._

_See you in two weeks,_

_Foster_

Cal frowned at the way she signed the note, even in writing she was distancing herself. He also observed that she didn't apologize for leaving him hanging for two weeks. She was probably well into her anger stage when she'd written the note and considered it her right to leave.

Picking up Gillian's phone, he tried unlocking it, but frowned when he couldn't figure out the password. No worry; he'd have Loker hack it in the morning.

Plopping into his chair unceremoniously, Cal reflected on how ruffled Gillian had been the other night, and how badly the whole situation went. He wondered if more was going on than he initially suspected, though what he'd done to her was bad enough. Frowning, he tucked her phone into his pocket and left. Feeling rotten and cross should not be allowed on the weekend.

.::.::.::.

When Gillian arrived at Charles de Galle in Paris, she quickly took a moment to get her bearings, soaking in the sounds of the soft and slurred flow of the French language. First order of business, she stopped by a kiosk and purchased a cheap prepaid phone. Then she rented a convertible for the hell of it and got on the road, next stop: a small village outside Rouen.

During undergrad, Gillian spent an entire year abroad in France, It had been a life-changing experience and she had grown rather close to her sponsor family. So close, that she still kept in contact fifteen years later. The family had a summer home in the countryside near Rouen. Nothing fancy, just a small two-bedroom cottage full of whitewashed walls, sun-soaked linens, and blue glass of which the hostess, Julie, was so fond.

A couple hours of easy driving and Gillian pulled onto the gravel drive. Nearly a half-mile long, it was flanked on both sides by a field of wildflowers, basking in the warmth of the midday sun. After parking the car, she climbed out and grabbed her one piece of luggage then traced the slate path to the front door. There were a series of clay pots adorning the ledge near the doorway; underneath the third lay the key.

Opening the door, she set her bag on the floor and walked to the kitchen table where she found a bouquet of fresh flowers and a note from Julie awaiting her. Plucking up the thick paper, rich with the scent of lavender, Gillian smiled at its familiarity as she read the friendly welcome written in beautiful script.

Taking a look around, the sunlight hit the white walls in a fashion that made everything almost too bright, oversaturated even. Everything seemed sharper, rubbing off the age-tarnished memories she recalled fondly. It was still the same, for the blue bottles and sea glass lined every window ledge of the cottage, the walls were just as white and the linens — they were just as sun soaked.

A heavy fatigue set upon Gillian and rightfully so, for she'd been running solely on adrenaline for days. She pulled her suitcase into the bedroom, closed the blinds, stripped off her clothes and climbed into the most comfortable bed in creation. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes, asleep before she finished exhaling.

Gillian slept for nearly two days.

.::.::.

Before work on Monday, Cal was prepared to roll out of bed and trudge in, never mind what people thought. Then he realized that this was a big deal. Gillian not being at work was no small issue and he needed to marginalize the fallout as best he could. Otherwise, there would be questions and pestering and that would only make things worse for him.

Forty minutes later, Cal appeared at work, freshly shaven and showered, wearing a clean shirt. Calling a meeting in the conference room, he breezed in and casually announced the following:

"Alright, Foster's away for two weeks and she's left a couple of you things to do in her absence. Go about your normal routines. Those of you on the Oil Spill Case stay behind. Rest of you, out," he took a seat in a chair as several people filed out, murmuring among themselves and casting wary looks.

Cal looked across the table at Torres, his face completely blank, daring her to say a word. She swallowed hard and looked away, retreating for this round.

.::.::.

Slowly easing into consciousness, Gillian's eyes drifted open, hazy and unclear. For a good minute, she was completely disoriented and fear swept through her system. The past few days filtered in like the sunlight dappling her comforter and Gillian couldn't help but wish that it had all been an awful dream.

Staggering out of bed to the bathroom, she bypassed the mirror completely and turned on the shower, letting the water run until hot. She felt like death warmed over, not completely rejuvenated. Frowning, she didn't bother taking time to luxuriate in the shower, simply running through the motions.

After dressing, she walked into the kitchen and found it bare, save for a few essentials. Gillian walked into the village and stopped by the local grocer, grabbing a baguette, cheese and a couple bottles of wine. When she returned, Gillian walked to the back patio and ate her meal. A while later, she found herself wonderfully sloshed off the bottle of red she'd just consumed.

Mind blissfully numb once again, she drunkenly reasoned that if she couldn't escape her problems by putting in the distance, she'd certainly do her best to drink them away.

.::.::.

Cal stopped sleeping, and it showed. His temper was short and his behavior bordered on cruel when antagonism wouldn't suffice.

Most of the time he was left alone to pour over footage and glance over the files Gillian left for him to complete. During lunch one day, he walked into her office and took her favorite pen. Just having his fingers wrapped around an object the Gillian touched frequently improved his mood slightly.

Cal finished the rest of his paperwork for the week using that pen, even signing his name with a flourish, just like Foster.

.::.::.

The next day and Gillian had a hangover to make Frat boys cry. It was enough to make her atone for her idiocy and swear off drink for the rest of the week. Then again, she was in wine country. Make that a couple days.

Gillian showered, scrubbing her skin until it was raw. She couldn't explain why she felt filthy, but she did. So she scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red and she wondered if she still had freckles. Gillian still had no idea what time it was, but didn't care much. Hunger evaded her once again, so she sat out back and watched the day pass her by.

Around four, she heard footsteps coming around the side of the house and was greeted with a face she hadn't seen in years.

"Monsieur Rousseau, how go to see you," Gillian smiled at him, kissing both cheeks and taking a step back. "I can't believe it's been so long since I last saw you."

This man was Julie's grand-pere, nearly ninety-two years old. His wrinkles had winkles, his eyes had long since developed cataracts, his skin thin, his hair wiry and his bones weak. But, he had the mentality of a twenty-year old, the health of a thirty year old, and a smile that could warm even the deadest of hearts.

"Come now, Laurent, if you please. Even after all these years, your French is fantastic," he replied as he took a seat across from her. "You've grown into a beautiful woman, Gillian."

Blushing because she was wearing an old pair of jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt, she shook her head and retreated to get him a glass of water.

"I'd offer you more, but I haven't done proper shopping," she said as she set the glass on the table before him.

"I find that surprising, since you've been here nearly four days. Are you well?" he asked with a calm smile.

"I forgot that you live just across the way," she deflected smoothly. "Please forgive me for not coming sooner. I've been… " she searched for a lie, then settled on the truth, "I've been in need of solitude."

"Oh, I didn't need you to tell me that," he replied, flashing a knowing smirk. "No one comes here alone, out of the blue, without wanting some form of solitude. The question is, will you do me the honor of joining me for dinner this evening? Nothing special, just ratatouille."

Gillian smiled at his off the cuff comment. Laurent was a world-renowned chef. _Nothing special_ was equal to four-stars in Paris or New York. Unfortunately, Laurent was also remarkably perceptive and this drew Gillian's hesitation. The last thing she wanted was to be _read._

"If you promise just a meal and civilized conversation, then certainly," Gillian reasoned.

He rose slowly and walked past her, patting her on the shoulder. "I'll drop by at seven 'o clock my dear. You know the wine I like."

Gillian smiled as he ambled away, ninety-two or not, he still had a spring in his step.

.::.::.

Zoe spotted it first.

"What's different about you?"

"Dunno what you mean."

"You've been like this for weeks, months even. But it's gotten worse lately. Is it because Gillian's gone?"

"Oh none of that rubbish again, this has nothing to do with Foster."

Zoe stood to her full height, blocking his path. She took a step closer and sighed.

"At least you're showering. Guess you're not that bad off, yet."

"Attacking my hygiene now? That's classy, even for a defense lawyer."

"Cal, she's coming back."

"I know that."

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Nothin', Zoe, now get out of my bloody office."

"If you aren't going to talk to me, fine. But don't take it out on Emily. She's coming over tomorrow, don't forget."

.::.::.

The following evening and Gillian was about to dine for the second time with Laurent. He was the consummate host, full of lively stories of his family and his days working in Paris. It was easy to fall under this man's spell, to watch him weave these long and winding tales that would make her forget her troubles.

After lulling her into a sense of complacency with wine and word, Laurent subtly launched his attack. "Goodness, Gillian," he said as he watched her take a bite of his white chocolate mousse. "I've been talking about my family since you've arrived, and other than the basics, I haven't a clue about what you've been up to."

"What do you want to know?"

"Start with why you're here and we can go from there," his voice was soft and caring, but she couldn't unclench the pain that was associated with her reasons.

"How about we have dessert talk tonight. Save the heavy stuff for another day?"

"Fair enough."

Laurent already knew of her background at the Pentagon and that she'd retired and started the company with Cal. She updated him on the recent events of the past couple years: Sophie, Alec and the divorce, the past six months. For some odd reason, she'd always been able to open up to this man, maybe because he let her approach her problems at her own pace, rather than making her run at them head-first like _someone else_ she knew.

"Do you like what you do?" he asked as he set his chin on his closed fist. "Weeding around in other people's lives, trying to trip them up?"

"I like _finding the truth_, there's a difference."

Laurent nodded as he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath of air. They spent the evening on his patio, watching the sunlight fade into the distance. The soft chirp of crickets and rush of the river was all that could be heard at the moment. Sipping her tea, Gillian glanced at Laurent and by the crinkle of his brow, knew he was deep in thought.

"You've always tried to see the best in others, Gillian, even when they're obviously at fault. That still hasn't changed, even after all that has happened."

She smiled, but it was slow and didn't reach her eyes. She wasn't so sure if she saw the best in people anymore. Not after everything she'd seen through work.

"I find it interesting that you and your partner are both divorced now. Odd how that works out," Laurent said as he toyed with the handle of his cup.

"I know what you're thinking and you can stop. All we've ever been is partners," she stated calmly. "At most, we're good friends."

"Okay," Laurent replied, his eyes shifting across her own.

Gillian rolled her eyes and sighed. "My husband and I divorced because of entirely different reasons, none of which had to do with Cal."

"Ex."

"Excuse me?"

"Ex-husband. You just referred to Alec as your husband. I don't need a degree to know that carelessness is not the reason."

"I think it's time I go," Gillian stated evenly, "thank you the lovely meal, Laurent."

As she passed him and reached the white picket gate, she heard his soft voice calling after her, "Have a good evening, I'll be here Gillian."

Gillian trudged back to the cottage, bitter and angry with herself. Of course she knew Alec wasn't her husband. The pregnant fiancé made that _abundantly clear_. She had no idea how that slipped out. She _never_ misspoke.

Changing into her pajamas, she walked out to the back and took a seat on the patio, her cell phone in hand. She played with the device, turning it in her hands as she contemplated. Taking a deep breath she unleashed a few thoughts and allowed herself to feel the hurt, sharp and painful as it was.

Seeing Alec… it was an indescribable type of pain. She'd spent the majority of her adulthood loving him, whispering goodnight when he'd wrap his arm around her torso, making breakfast together on Sundays, spending hours reading books and sharing the newspaper. Up until the last three years of marriage, theirs had been good. Both even-tempered, they rarely fought, supported each other in their endeavors, and loved as only two people who were highly compatible did.

Unfortunately, the last three were full of heartache and sorrow. Throughout the duration, their love remained, but their ability to be with each other suffered. When he started using again, it was the final nail in the coffin. She knew that she would not win the battle, even though she tried to fight.

Gillian always fought for lost causes.

Searching her soul for a few minutes, she asked herself what she wanted for Alec. She'd loved him once and a part of her always would. That didn't say much, because she loved easily, it was in her nature. Letting someone love her back? That was another story. Reciprocal love imparted a type of trust that was unlike any other; it required the relinquishment of control as an offering to another.

Gillian knew that the other day, learning that Alec had officially started over, it not only turned a page in his life, but hers as well. Once and for all, it was time to say goodbye to that chapter in her life. Dialing his number, she took a breath as she waited for the call to go through.

"Alec Foster."

She was frozen, unable to speak. Only a sharp intake of break could be heard. In a moment of panic, she pushed the end button. Slamming the phone down on the bench, she pulled her knees to her chest and set her chin upon her arms crossed over top. Not yet.

.::.::.

"Where've you been?" asked Emily as Cal walked in through the door, removing his jacket.

"Stopped by Foster's for a bit."

"I thought Gillian was out of town."

"She is… look, I'm going to take a shower," he stated as he moved past her, not looking her in the eyes.

"I can't believe you broke into her house!"

"I did no such thing."

"Dad!'" she scrambled up the stairs after him, "What did you do? Why'd she leave?"

"I didn't do anything, Em. She's had a rough few months and decided to take off for a bit."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you had nothing to do with this."

Cal stopped just before his room and pivoted quickly. He stalked over to his daughter at full-speed, stopping only when she hit the wall, surprise and regret on her features.

"For the last time, Foster leaving was her own decision. I don't want to talk about her anymore," he said brusquely. "If you don't mind, I'm going to get clean and then we're going out to dinner. Got it?"

Emily swallowed and nodded.

.::.::.

Saturday evening Gillian wandered into town looking for company that didn't qualify for a senior citizen's discount. As the cool night air settled in, Gillian claimed a dark corner in an old café. A chanteuse and her guitarist were in the opposite corner and the tables were comfortably packed with listeners.

Sipping her wine, Gillian leaned her head back against the wall and let the soft flow of the woman's words run over her like water. The chanteuse sang of bitter heartbreak and redeeming love, the music the sun makes and of clouds with indefinable color. She had a deep, sultry voice, and Gillian imagined that the woman could break a man down with only a couple words.

Feeling the chair next to her skirt away she opened her eyes to find a tall man standing before her. Scruffy yet attractive, he smiled kindly and asked if he could take a seat since all the others were occupied. Gillian shrugged and the man quietly slid into position, turning his chair to face the chanteuse, his shoulder brushing her own.

At one point, they fell into casual conversation, discussing the town and other frivolity. Then he motioned to the book she had placed in her lap. She realized she'd carried it with her into town and smiled bashfully. For the next three hours, they discussed some of her favorites, Baudelaire, Flaubert, and Hugo. He recounted his time spent studying art, staring for days at Delacroix, Gericault, but his favorite was Manet — particularly _Olympia._

"Who do you think my favorite artist is?" asked Gillian as she drained the last of her third glass, leaning forward on her elbows to discern the exact color of his eyes. She was fairly certain they were black. He gazed back at her, crooked smile on his wine-stained lips and leaned even closer.

"When we first started talking, I'd have said someone typical, like Monet, or Degas. But for you? I think your tastes run darker and foreign, like Goya or perhaps someone from a completely different movement, someone like Mary Cassat."

Gillian's eyes widened briefly and his grin grew larger. "Ah, Cassat? She depicts maternal relations so intimately. Are you a mother?"

Frowning, she leaned back in her chair and pulled out some Euros. Giving him a weak smile, she pushed away from the table and exhaled sadly.

"I was a mother… once."

Leaving the man somewhat dumbfounded, she returned to the cottage, still clutching _Les Fleurs du Mal. _Suddenly angry at everything, she threw the book across the room and swept the contents of the kitchen table onto the floor. Crumbling in on herself instantly, she slid against the wall to the dusty floor and wept.

.::.::.

"Tell me about Sophie," Laurent asked the following morning over croissants and Nutella. She wondered if he somehow knew the man from the café.

"There's nothing much to say. I only knew her for fifty-seven days."

"But you fell in love at first sight, yes? Entire books have been written on much less."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Do you want to cry about it instead?" his tone was soft, but Gillian shot him a sharp look.

"You've changed over the years. I remember when you'd always have an acerbic remark at the ready, but now, you must save those for when it's truly justified. Remember when you were twenty and you didn't trust a soul?"

"I remember being twenty and you pestering me all the time."

"Do you think that's what I'm doing now?"

"I _know_ that's what you're doing now."

"Why haven't you asked me to leave then?"

Gillian sat quietly, not meeting his eyes. She watched a flock of birds fly overhead, tracking the movement of the clouds as they passed. Glancing at Laurent, she frowned. He never judged, just carefully prodded and teased until she could face her reality.

"I blamed him," Gillian whispered.

"Alec?"

"Yeah. I blamed him for the whole thing. I never said it outright. But he'd taken it upon his own initiative to set up the adoption with the mother, set everything in motion. He'd wanted so… _badly_ to give me a child, for us to have a family. We'd been so outrageously happy when we had her."

"And just like that — it got taken away. I imagine he blamed himself as well. But you probably tried to reassure him, right?"

Gillian nodded, biting her lip as she pushed her fist to her mouth, holding back the bitter tears.

"Did you ever fully mourn her loss?"

Gillian shrugged, looking up at Laurent with watery eyes. "You can't mourn the loss of something you never had to begin with."

"Sure you can. It's just like unrequited love, no? Look at it this way, Gillian. You and Alec, you both took the chance, you both opened your hearts to this innocent creature and loved her with everything you had."

"We still got burned."

"At least you took the chance."

"I don't think I could ever do that again. The pain? It's… I can't… go through that again."

"Try."

"What?"

"Let yourself feel the pain. When my Yvette died, I was inconsolable. She passed the winter before you arrived. Remember what you said to me the day we met?"

Gillian squinted into the distance, searching for memories of her youth. "_To love at all is to be vulnerable…?_" She glanced over at him and he nodded. "I was on a C.S. Lewis kick at the time, I had no idea what I was talking about."

"Gillian, at twenty, you had lived more life than most people twice your age. I imagine you were well aware of what you were talking about. Perhaps not the type of love you've experienced now, but you knew plenty."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Your twenty-year-old self and Mr. Lewis were correct. If you keep your heart in that casket, it will most certainly change. It will not be broken, that is certain. But it will also never know the wonder of love and the fulfillment it can bring."

"So I should take solace that I had the chance to love Sophie at all? Satisfied that even though Alec and I didn't work out, we at least got to share in that love for a brief time?"

Laurent quirked his head to the side and propped his chin on his hand.

"You should be whatever you want to be Gillian. Sad, angry, happy, sorry… Be them all. Just... be something more than _nothing_."

Gillian tossed her croissant on her plate, her appetite gone.

.::.::.

Cal stood in front of the mirror, staring at the lines in his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked just like he did everyday — slightly rumpled, careless appearance. Though closer examination illuminated the sorrow etched into every feature. Being at work was becoming painful, if only because every time he forgot himself and heard the soft click of heels, he'd glance up expecting to see Gillian. Only, it was just some nameless intern, hesitant and nervous.

Gillian was the one that eased the interns into the company; she was the one who greeted them with warm smiles and a soft pat on the arm. She was the one who injected heart and soul into this otherwise haphazard sham they called the _pursuit of truth_.

Cal was the wizard behind the curtain. Or so he'd always thought.

But as he left his library and walked down the hall to the exit, disregarding the averted glances and cautious postures, he was becoming painfully aware that he was just a man. A man without a cape or a cause. Just barely human, and even that was questionable.

.::.::.

Gillian's days were blurring together. She could hardly remember the last conversation she'd had with Laurent and figured it had to do with all the wine she'd been drinking lately. Silently promising to stay away from that false comfort, she filled a bottle with water, grabbed a baguette and tossed them in her bag.

She'd taken up a soft footpath near the river; it was steady and meandered carelessly. Perfect for afternoon musings. Spotting a shade tree up ahead, she sat beneath it, watching as the sun-dappled greenery shifted with each breeze. After eating and drinking her fill, she lay in the grass and stared at the sky peaking through the leaves above.

There were no more tears to cry over Sophie. Gillian believed that she had moved on, but she'd never truly allowed herself to grieve. Sure, she'd given in to sporadic bouts, but nothing truly cathartic.

Did she really need catharsis? Or did she need to find resolution? There was only one way to achieve it, though she longed for an alternative. She walked back to the cottage slowly; each step was like opening a fresh wound. When she reached the back patio, she took a seat in the shade and plucked up some hidden reserve of courage. Pulling out the prepaid phone, she dialed one of two numbers she had committed to memory.

"Alec Foster."

Once again, she was frozen, but it was transient.

"Hello?" She could tell he was checking the screen, looking to see who dialed. "Gill?"

She exhaled loudly, shaking her head at the knowing tone in his voice.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

She was silent for a moment more, and then summoned all her courage.

"Are you happy?"

"What?"

"Are you happy?" her voice was a little more desperate this time, but he was busy trying to figure out what was going on.

"How'd you find out?"

"Doesn't matter, just answer the question."

"Fine. Yes, I'm happy." Though he said the words in frustration, they were true. It stung a bit more than she cared for. "I can't tell you how many times I've picked up the phone, trying to decide how to tell you. It feels wrong, you know? That I'm getting to have this second chance when you're the one who deserves it more."

"Don't say that, you wanted a child just as badly…." She sighed and took a deep breath. "I don't know if you need to hear it, but… I _am _sorry, for all that happened with Sophie. It truly wasn't your fault."

He was silent for a moment then began speaking again, his voice soft, "Gillian, I've never met anyone who wanted to be a mother as much as you. No one. It's so odd how everything turned out. I always figured you'd be swept off your feet by now, or that Lightman would've finally gotten his act together."

"Alec," she warned.

"C'mon, we've had enough time to clear the air. Don't tell me that Lightman's only ever been your partner. You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you anything. But for the sake of clarification, I'd say he was my best friend, but that's it."

"_Was?_ What he'd do this time?"

Gillian bit her lip and rolled her eyes. How did she keep slipping? _How?_

"Listen, I've only got a few minutes left. I…" she took a breath, "I'm glad you're happy. _Everyone_ deserves a second chance, I mean that."

"Thank you," he replied quietly. "Gill? I really wish that'd we'd been able to work it out. You're not someone that can be gotten over and I think I'll love you 'til the day I die. I just… I just wanted you to know that."

Gillian felt the knot forming in her throat, but no tears this time.

"Goodnight, Alec."

.::.::.

Gillian walked over to Laurent's the following morning, but found the door locked and the lights off. No longer able to drive, she knew he rode his bicycle frequently to town in order to gather groceries. Frowning, she figured she'd run into him later and decided to go for another walk.

As she walked along, she realized she felt… lighter somehow. Not that she felt talking with Alec made her turn a new leaf over night, but the closure it provided restored her with a quiet type of strength.

She took a different route today, choosing to head towards town. She picked her way across a field of wild flowers, spotting a tree that was destined to be climbed. Looking around, Gillian couldn't see anyone approaching. Slipping off her shoes, she began her ascent until she was happily situated on a branch half way up the tree. Recalling a time in her childhood, Gillian smiled at the memory of being chastised by her mother for unladylike behavior, ordered to settle on the ground. Out of spite, young Gillian only climbed higher and spent the entire afternoon and part of the evening in the tree. Her mother always said Gillian got her stubbornness from her father.

Hours later with a sore bum and a mild sunburn, Gillian returned to find a note on her door — _Foie de gras?_ If in keeping with tradition, she'd have her dinner guest over this evening. She kept the wine decanter in the cupboard this time, selecting the sparkling water instead.

.::.::.

"Lightman. I was wondering when you'd turn up."

"What for?"

"Well, Gillian called me last night, so I imagine you're here for damage control."

The confusion was apparent on Cal's face and Alec sat up a little straighter in his chair, suddenly aware that he had the upper hand.

"So, you don't even know why she called me?"

"Depends."

Alec smirked. This was fun. "So, you must have done something…. something pretty awful if she's not talking to you. Because, let's face it. This is _Gillian_ we're talking about."

"Where is she?"

"No clue."

"Then why'd she call you?"

"You really have no idea?" Cal shook his head. "My fiancé is pregnant." The words, though proud, had a hint of sadness, a type of wishfullness in them that was hard to miss. Alec was happy, but his fiancé wasn't the one he wanted to be happy with. He still wanted Gillian.

Cal pushed off from the doorframe, preparing to leave.

"Can I offer you some advice?" Cal shrugged, sizing up the other man. "Don't push her. That's the worst thing you can do. She spends all her energy fighting for you, to be there for you, to be with you. She fights so hard day in and day out, that in the end, she has nothing left to fight with. When you back her into a corner, she won't stay and fight… she'll find a way out. She leaves. I did that once and she came back. The second time…"

And suddenly, the dissolution of Gillian Foster's marriage made so much more sense.

.::..::.

Gillian was completely satiated as she leaned back in her chair, watching the drizzle streak down the windows.

"I can't decide if the Coq au vin was better than the Foie de gras."

Glancing up at Laurent, a slow smile crept across his face as he propped his elbows on the table. "Well, I think your inner woman is telling you how unhealthy Foie de gras is," he replied as she gathered the plates and took them to the sink. "You're an excellent student, Gillian. If your current work doesn't pan out, I'm certain you could work in a fine restaurant somewhere."

"I don't think I'm cut out for that lifestyle," she grinned at him as she put the kettle on the stove.

"You seem in better spirits," he observed as she moved about the kitchen. Laurent reminded her so much of Cal sometimes, it was eerie.

"I was wondering if you'd tell me what your partner has done to make you so angry," he said simply, as though he weren't opening an ugly can of worms.

"I'd rather not."

"Are you in love with him?"

The question surprised her, not because it wasn't warranted, but because of the nonchalant way he asked it. With the span of the kitchen between them, she turned and surveyed the older man, his legs crossed and his arm draped casually across the back of his chair.

"It's complicated," she hedged.

"Complex love often is," he reasoned. "When you speak of him, I can tell there is a deep bond between you both, but there's something more… something untapped. Am I correct?"

Gillian shrugged and turned to the cupboard, pulling down two mugs.

"What's stopping you from taking that extra step? Do you not trust him?"

"Not… not after all he's done lately. The way he's behaved, it's… I don't know."

"Why do you think he did it?"

"Because I was pulling away from him, and he tried to fix it _his_ way."

"Do you resent him for his recklessness? For the way seeks out these women and his cavalier attitude towards your work?"

Gillian pursed her lips, choosing to pour the hot water instead of answering.

"It doesn't make you an awful person, for being angry with him. It's warranted even. Is that why you won't fully open up to him? Because you think he'll destroy you?"

"There's no doubt in my mind that he's fully capable of it. But I'm more concerned that he'll destroy himself and take others down with him."

Laurent nodded, playing with the edge of the tablecloth. He seemed to be weighing her words before he spoke. "Remember when I told you I fought in world war two? And I said I did… things I would never forgive myself for?"

Gillian nodded. Laurent had been shot twice and nearly died the second time. He'd been discharged because of his injuries, but was recruited for the French Resistance, and later, the French Forces of the Interior.

"When I was younger, I was brash and irresponsible and invincible. Before I joined the FFI, I participated in a lot of… guerilla warfare. A lot of unfair fights. I had this hatred so strong, that nothing could pull me back. Nothing."

"Until you met Yvette," Gillian replied as she carried the mugs over and sat down, cradling her own. Yvette had been a fellow resistance member and they had fallen in love in the winter of 1944. "To put up with you and your stubbornness, she must have been a saint."

"Actually, she had a temper that could empty a room. But she was patient and loyal. To a fault, even. She learned how to work with me, how to manage me. She taught me how to let go of my anger and didn't let me get away with anything."

"I am not that person for Cal. If anything, I let him get away with too much."

"Well, it appears that you've stopped letting him get away with it now."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't that what you've done with this little trip across the ocean? Your big warning sign? _Do that again and I'm gone?_"

"No… I just… I needed to get away. I let things build up to the point that I couldn't handle it anymore."

"And none of that had anything to do with getting fed up with your partner?"

"Oh, it did. But that wasn't the only reason."

Laurent nodded at her, giving her a knowing smile. "I'm going to call it a night. Thank you for dinner."

Gillian frowned. He hadn't even touched his tea. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, he stood slowly and made his way to the door. "Would you grant me a request?"

Eyebrows pinching together, Gillian nodded hesitantly.

"I mean this with all the love in the world," he said as he placed his hand over his heart, "but you being here, doing all this? Means nothing until you are honest with yourself. You claim to be in the business of searching for truth amongst all the lies. Perhaps it's time to turn that searching inwards."

After he left, Gillian spent the rest of her night in her kitchen, contemplating honesty and deceit — the fine line distinguishing the two.

.::.::.

"Is there something you want to tell me Loker?"

Leaning against the counter in the breakroom, Loker pretended to contemplate for a moment, then shook his head. "No, don't think so."

"Right then. Did Foster tell you to keep your mouth shut? About her ex-husband?"

Loker didn't reply, just stared blankly at Cal.

"Oh come on, now isn't the time to be loyal."

Clenching his jaw, Cal saw regret then anger flash over Loker's face. "Leave her alone."

"Ah, there it is, just what I was lookin' for. You really are startin' to change, aren't ya? Baby steps though, hard to undo two decades worth of damage a womanizer has ground into your head."

Loker looked away at the comment and Cal felt a twinge of regret, but pushed it away. Daddy issues could wait for another day.

"What's so different about Foster? Why do you put so much faith in her?"

Loker shrugged, exhaling slowly as he stuffed his hands into his jeans. "Even when I screw up, or treat her badly, she forgives me. She always puts other people before herself. She's the most selfless person I've ever met."

"Quite a pedestal you have her on."

"No," Loker shook his head, squaring his jaw. "It'd be a pedestal if it weren't true. I know she has a dark side, but she keeps it private and I can respect that because she doesn't inflict it upon others relentlessly."

"So now we're talkin' about me." Cal circled about Loker.

Drawing to his full height, Loker replied, "No, we're talking about what you need to change in order for her to stay because you cannot replace someone like Gillian Foster. You need to put your demons to rest and move on."

"Watch it," Cal warned.

Loker scowled and headed towards the door, shaking his head. "No one said the truth was easy."

.::.::.::.

Two days later, Gillian walked along the trail past Laurent's house heading to the river. She'd spent far too much time on introspection and had nothing to show for it. Sighing, she walked along the dock and stopped at the end, sitting down and letting her legs dangle over the edge.

No more than ten minutes later and she heard the soft shuffle of Laurent as he drew closer. He had his cane today and she reminded herself that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

"Arthritis acting up?"

"Other than Alzheimer's it is the great foe of getting old."

Blocking the sunlight with her hand, she smiled at him as he eased into the bench along the side of the dock. They sat in comfortable silence, watching ducks float by in the steady stream. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly, sliding back to that day when she watched Summerton get shot.

"You can't save everyone," he observed quietly.

"I know."

"Then why do you feel guilty about that man? You didn't pull the trigger."

"Still… I could have saved him."

"You can't rescue someone who doesn't want to be saved."

They sat for a while longer, then Gillian took her leave, wandering slowly back to the cottage. Instead of heading inside, she got in the car, lowered the top and started to drive. Gillian didn't return until morning.

.::.::.

Cal didn't go into work for a whole day. The lack of sleep caught up with him and he finally drank himself into a stupor, passing out on the couch. When he woke, his tongue felt like he'd licked the bottom of a broom and his head felt like elephants hosted a party inside. A bottle of water and a couple aspirin later he leaned back on his couch and stared at the ceiling.

For nearly two months now, unbeknownst to anyone, he'd been attending these bloody meetings for gamblers. He never had any intentions of abstaining from gambling, or even considered that he was all that reckless. But as heard the stories of the others, how they exaggerated certain parts and downplayed others, he'd started to realize that perhaps he wasn't different from the worthless lumps on either side of him.

The night before there was one man, FBI from the looks of him, who stood up and talked about how he'd seen rock bottom, how nights spent playing poker became mornings. It was all an escape, he said as he looked around the room, meeting each and every eye. He said he had a great kid and was very good at his work, but it didn't matter, didn't keep him from getting shot at or throwing down his paycheck on a horse race. He'd done too many things, committed too many atrocities that risking his life day in and day out couldn't balance it out.

Then he met a woman. Cal rolled his eyes as he slouched even further in his chair. The Agent shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled to himself, describing her quirks and her intelligence, her beauty and her patience.

"What I'm trying to say here… is that I don't put all my hope or all my faith in her. But we're a team and even when I don't realize I'm stumbling, she's there to pick me up. I'm not one for having a rock or a north or any of that crap, but I can recognize that she is what keeps me grounded… She keeps me human and… alive."

After the Agent finished speaking, Cal slid his chair back and left, ignoring the burn of his two-month chip in the pocket of his pants leg.

.::.::.

Gillian awoke, feeling different somehow. Like she'd been waking up on the wrong side of the bed for months, and today she'd finally gotten out the proper way.

Her mind wasn't the cluttered web of confusion it had been for the past few days. Instead, the fog was lifted and she could see her problems for what they were. Breathing deeply, she climbed out of bed and got ready. No more introspection for the day, just a day of fun in Paris.

Long ago, when she was young, she'd always set out to try new things when on vacation. Considering she had only two days left, Gillian felt it was time to make good on that promise. It was an entire day of newness: new dessert, new perfume, new shoes, new museums, new paths to be taken. It was all a whirlwind, but she still found time to stop by a favorite of hers, Jardin des Tuileries. She took a seat in one of the chairs lining the gravel path. With coffee in hand she watched the world in quiet wonder.

.::.

Torres stomped into Cal's office, fed up and frustrated.

"What's going on? You had the chance to go into that room and stop that guy, but instead, you let the SWAT team take over. Do you feel okay?"

Cal clasped his hands over his abdomen, surveying his protégé carefully.

"Wasn't worth it. They handled the situation just fine."

"But you wanted to go in there, I can tell."

"Congratulations."

"Is this because of Foster?"

Face carefully blank, Cal gave her a mocking smile, watching as Torres frowned in turn. For a second, he let go and watched her eyes widen at all she saw.

"Is this going to be a permanent thing?"

"Taking it as it comes."

Nodding carefully she stepped away. From the side, he caught her brief smile of pride before she exited his office.

.::.::.

Gillian met Laurent for lunch one last time, for she was leaving the following day.

"It seems you've figured out a few things since we last met," he observed.

"Perhaps," Gillian smiled coyly.

"Care to share?"

"Only with the person it's intended for," she glanced at him over her coffee, grinning at the way he rolled his eyes at her.

"This has been nice, having someone visit me. You should return in the spring, I have a wonderful crop of strawberries that you'd love."

"I'll see what I can do," Gillian replied. "I wanted to thank you. I know I haven't been the best of company, but I appreciate you taking the time to listen."

"What else was I going to do? Watch the flowers grow? You're the most exciting thing that's happened around here in months."

She smiled at him and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. They sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the afternoon.

.::.::.

Cal got a call from the mayor around lunchtime on Saturday. It was a quick and simple job, not too painful. Which was good, because he was distracted by thoughts of Gillian and the company and his daughter. There was no way he was going to be able to spend the rest of his life on the sidelines. None. Though, he amended in his mind at least, that he could do with practicing a bit more caution.

Cal swore to himself that it had nothing to do with Foster and more with his own willingness to at least make a compromise. Frowning, he let an ounce of truth weigh in.

Okay, a little bit of it had to do with Foster.

Foster, who would be returning sometime tomorrow. Cal definitely ignored the way his heart sped up at that thought. There was only so much honesty one could take.

.::.::.

"Julie!" Gillian smiled as she opened the door, "I'm so glad you were able to drop by."

"Allo, Gillian," she kissed both Gillian's cheeks as she stepped inside. "I know you are leaving soon, I just wanted to stop by before you took off."

"Thank you," she said as Julie took a seat at the table.

"This place looks the same, no?"

"It certainly does," Gillian glanced around. "Though, I don't think I remember that couch always being there."

"Oh, we brought it over from grand-pere's… after he passed away."

Gillian stiffened at the counter; fortunately she was facing away from her guest. All those meals, eating only outside, he never seemed to finish a drink, his house always looked dark. Oh, this was not good. Taking a shallow breath, she turned slowly with their glasses. Finding her voice, she began speaking again.

"When… when did Laurent pass away?"

"Last winter. Exactly Fifteen years to the day after his wife. I think it's kind of romantic, in a way."

"Yeah," Gillian smiled feebly, feeling a little faint. "Something like that."

.::.::.

It was early evening on Sunday when Cal returned to the office. Emily was going to _pick him up_ and drive them to dinner shortly. He still couldn't reconcile the fact that his daughter was able to transport him anywhere.

Most the lights were off including those in Gillian's office, but he didn't falter. He imagined she'd be there first thing on Monday, like nothing changed. She was a fan of that approach.

When he stepped inside his office, the sight before him drew him to a halt.

Behind _his _desk, legs crossed and elbows propped on the arms of _his_ chair, sat Gillian. Her head tilted to the side, she wore a quizzical smile as she surveyed him slowly. Drawing up to his full height, he approached his desk and took a seat opposite. They sat for a few moments, taking each other in.

Something was different, though he couldn't quite place it. Gillian's eyes were much clearer and her gaze was steady and unflinching. She looked well rested and still maintained that sense of calmness about her. Just being in her presence, Cal felt more at ease.

Pursing her lips at him, she picked an object off his desk. "You stole my pen."

"Lost mine."

"I see," she smiled knowingly. She looked good, sitting behind his desk. "I spent the last two weeks talking to a dead man."

Cal's eyebrows darted upward, completely thrown for a moment. "Did he talk back?"

"Yes."

"Do you still see him?"

"No."

Cal shrugged, not nearly as worried. "Then I guess we can rule out schizophrenia."

She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. He merely settled further in his chair, glad to have her with him.

"I owe you an apology," she said quietly. "What I said before, about making you choose… that was wrong of me. One thing I learned at a very young age is that people don't change, the circumstances might, but no amount of hoping, loving, or caring, will get that person to change. I've experienced a lot of grief over my inability to truly accept that."

"You think I can't change?"

Gillian frowned looking down as she spoke, "I think it's wrong to make yourself something that you're not. I think what I really wanted was for you to acknowledge that the current path you're on isn't healthy and it's hurting others, not just you."

"What if I told you I've decided to take a different path?"

Gillian's brows pinched together in doubt and confusion.

"Let me rephrase that, actually I was hoping that _we_ could take a different path... together."

"What are you saying?"

Cal caught the brief flash of uncertainty and doubt, then interest as he started speaking. "Maybe I'm starting to realize that a compromise needs to be made, but from what I understand, those take at least two people to work properly," he stated smartly.

Gillian's lip quirked upwards as she swiveled slightly in the chair. "What are you proposing?"

"Nothin' flashy, more just an agreement of sorts," he said casually. "If you agree not to… shut me out like you have been, I'll do my best not to create situations in which you feel the need to do so."

Gillian nodded slowly, biting her lip. "Remember what I just said about change? I think you're asking a lot without fully realizing the implications."

"No, I've thought quite a bit about it," he said assuredly. "I mean, it's hard to do unless you have someone to be accountable to, right? You and me, we're partners. We're a team. It's what we do."

A flicker of a smile glanced off her lips at his words. She rose from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. Leaning against the hard wood with her head bowed, Cal watched as she contemplated his proposal. Gillian was wearing this blue wrap dress that matched her eyes perfectly, had on minimal make up, and her freckles popped out beneath her darkened lashes. The overall effect made her look much younger and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her.

Sometime… sometime in the near future, when the dust had settled, he would take that extra step. Because sooner or later, he wasn't going to be able to hold back when she stood before him, looking so beautiful and open. Standing carefully, Cal stopped just before her. Placing a hand on her cheek, he tilted her head upward he could meet her eyes.

Gillian was still worrying her lip between her teeth, but she was completely open to him. It nearly took his breath away, to see how much she was offering. To prove he meant business, Call did the same, letting his mask fall.

"I lied before," she whispered as her hand came up and wrapped around his wrist. "I said I didn't need anyone, but I did," she let out a soft breath, "I needed my best friend… I needed you."

Cal knew what she meant immediately. She didn't want the man who forced her to open up and manipulated situations. She wanted the one who was willing to meet her halfway.

"Well, I'm here now," he said quietly, matching her tone. "If you'll have me."

The smile that crossed her face went past her eyebrows and he couldn't help but reciprocate. That type of happiness was infectious. She stood fully and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Arms clenched tightly around her, he buried his head in her neck and breathed in, smiling against her neck when she said it tickled.

"Gillian!" Cal groaned inwardly. He'd forgotten Emily was coming. They pulled away as Emily skipped up in front of them and completely engulfed Gillian in a hug.

Pulling away, Emily smiled at Gillian. "Oh my God, you have no idea how good it is to see you. This place was not the same without you. Where'd you go? How've you been? Are you hungry? Do you want to come to dinner with us? I'm driving!"

Based off Gillian's dumbfounded look, Cal intervened. "Em, darling, give Foster a second to breathe. She only just arrived."

"Then you must be hungry," she replied sensibly. "Come with us to dinner. Please?"

Gillian looked between father and daughter knowing that there was no way she'd win this one. Casting one last look at Cal, she nodded at Emily, smiling brightly.

"I'm game, just as long as we aren't out too late," she said as the three of them headed down the corridor to the exit. Standing just behind them, Cal watched Emily wrapped her arm around Gillian who in turn draped her arm across Emily's shoulders. As they spoke with each other, all Cal could do was watch the two women before him and how much they meant to him, how much they made him feel. How, when he was around them, he was human.

"Cal? Are you okay?" Gillian was looking back at him, holding the door open. He smiled at her and took the door.

"Never better, love," he said as he grabbed her free hand in his own, the three of them walking out into the night together. "So... tell me about this dead guy..."

"Cal!"

.::.::.

A/N: Thanks to all... twelve of you *g* for reading and commenting. Hope you enjoyed.


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